Joannah's Chance
by faithtrustpixiedust96
Summary: 16 year old Joannah Darling had always longed for the fabled Neverland and adventure, but being a young lady in late 19th century England rarely allows for that. Everything changes however, when Joannah hears a voice calling her name in the night...
1. Chapter 1

16 year old Joannah Darling bust into her room, refraining from slamming the door, but locking it behind her; keeping out any potential intrusions. She had no mood to be around anyone at the moment. Well, save for a few people.

"Dear God, Peter Pan, please whisk me away to Neverland now." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "Or even dear old James Hook, for that matter. Nothing would make me happier than being stolen by pirates at this very moment." This was not the first time Joannah had spoken aloud to the night sky, very close to begging for her beloved residents of the Neverland to take her away from her London home to the place where aging ceased and adventure reigned. Nor was it the first time that she had opened her treasured book of "Peter Pan" ( a collection of stories her mother had written down for her) to simply gaze at the few illustrations, using her mind's eye to see herself in many of them. Riding the back of the wind, arms stretched as far as any eagle's wings; dancing wildly with Tiger Lily, firelight making their laughing faces glow. Even duelling the infamous Captain Hook, nearly faltering under his piercing blue gaze. Well, the story said they were a piercing blue. Any drawing she ever seen of him never included a close look at his eyes. Joannah had adored the story of Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, the Lost Boys, Wendy, John, Michael, the Pirates, and everyone since…well, since before she could remember. She shook her head, closed the book and curled up on her window seat, not unlike the one in the Darling nursery in the story, and gazed longingly up at the stars.

Joannah was also different from the other youths she new. It didn't used to be this way. On the contrary, in younger years she had often been the leader of many pretendings and games. Many of which had often surrounded Neverland and its events. As she and her friends had grown older however, her comrades in arms became interested in other things. They remained close, but it seemed that Joannah was the only one who remained faithful to the magic. This would not have been odd, for Joannah had always believed in Neverland as much as one could, but lately there had been a change in Joannah that had become obvious to her friends. She seemed to walk about in a sort of dream, and she would only speak if spoken to. She was also constantly sketching. This would not have been odd either, for she had always been an artist. The odd thing was what she was sketching. It was always a single set of eyes. She portrayed them in different emotions; anger, kindness, a hypnotic stare that seemed to burn off the page. But the eyes never varied. The eyes always remained the same shade of the lightest gray (for Joannah only sketched in pencil), the darker flecks always in their exact same places each time she sketched them anew. A close friend came to her one day and asked whose eyes she was drawing. Joannah looked up in a very confused way, and looked at the sketches of those eyes that were cluttered around her in the schoolyard (held down by rocks) looking even more confused. As if she hadn't realized she had been drawing them.

"I don't know," she said, puzzled. For she did not know, but they felt all too familiar.

Joannah's friends did not know what was troubling her, but she did all too well. Joannah had always had a need for adventure, even a bit of wanderlust. It was who she was. But life in late19th century England did not often allow adventure for a girl. Now that she was sixteen, nearly old enough to be married, she was nearly sure that it was too late for her dreams of Neverland and adventure. And it hurt her immensely. An ache in her chest that was almost physically painful. It was not proper of a girl her age to think such childish thoughts, but she did not care. She had never cared. She envied Wendy and her brothers so. Fictional as everyone told her they were, she always felt as if she personally knew every character. As a child it had once been her strong hope that sharing the same last name as Wendy Darling might have been a good omen. Her key to unlock the door (so to speak) to Neverland. She had spent many a night gazing at what she believed was the second star to the right, whispering "Peter!" praying that he would come. Deep down maybe a small part of her did know that it was all just a story, but the larger part of her shut those thoughts out.

And so we return to the beginning of this tale, with Joannah curled up in her window seat. A few minutes beforehand her parents had had a talk with her about how she was nearly of age to be married. Her father knew that one particular co-worker of his down at the bank had commented in how he thought he should be glad to have her for a wife. Joannah knew of the man of which her father spoke. A rich man indeed, but vulgar and as full of life as a rock. No, less than that, even. He only sought after her because he wanted a pretty young wife to care for his every need. Joannah knew that men found her attractive. Men seemed to find her bright green eyes, pale skin, chestnut hair and petite stature appealing. It sometimes even embarrassed her. But the thought of that vulgar, barbarous beast! She shuddered. Her parents had insisted, ignoring her protests, that if he did indeed propose to her, she would have to accept. To Joannah's mind, such a fate was worse than death.

So now there she was; still gazing upon her second star to the right with an emptiness in her heart, a single tear slipping out from her eye, when she heard someone calling her name.

"Joannah!" the voice said. "Joannah!"

She turned quickly, the tear falling off her face and on to the front of her white cotton nightgown. Again the voice called her name. It was a voice she did not recognize. A man's voice. Gruff, but at the same time exceedingly... silky. One could say the voice purred. It sounded pleasant. Joannah quickly wiped the tear track away with a sleeve of her nightgown and bounded to the door. Upon opening it, she called for her parents. She heard an answer in the form of snoring. They had both gone to bed; they were fast asleep.

"Joannah!" the voice called again, a bit more urgently this time. "Joannah Darling!!!!"

That last call was loud enough that it should've made the walls shake. Joannah waited for her parents to come rushing out into the hall, but her father's snoring didn't even change its rhythm. Could only she hear the voice? No, surely she must be hearing things.

"JOANNAH!!!!!!!!!"

Ouch. No, then. That one hurt her ears. Was it really only she who could hear this man calling her? Who was he, anyway? She fairly ran down the stairs to the front door, and was about to open it when she stopped. She was about to go running of through the London streets at NIGHT towards a strange voice that apparently only she could hear. It was a ridiculously dangerous thing to do. But then again, this was the type of adventure she'd been praying, wishing, and longing for her whole life! Was she going to let fear stand in her way?

Without a second thought she was out the door. Autumn had come to London, and the night's chill seeped straight through her nightdress and into her skin. Her bare feet flew across the frigid cobblestones, in pursuit of that rich voice. Persistently it called her name. She ran faster. It was coming from the park. She reached one of the winding pathways, thankfully partially lit by a street lamp. Quite abruptly, the voice stopped. Joannah listened carefully. She heard it once more, then again. It was becoming steadily fainter, though. Afraid she would lose it altogether before finding its source, she banished her weariness and ran down the pathway. She was growing colder, her bare feet almost painfully so. She hoped the voice's owner was not very far. She came to the center of the park, lit only by the full moon at highest point in the sky. She could hear the voice no longer, so she looked about in despair. Had she missed it? She looked to her right, and to Joannah's astonishment, a few yards away was a man on a bench that she had not noticed earlier.

The man had his back to her, and had not noticed her either. Scraggly, black hair fell in tight, thin curls a little past his shoulders. The bench's back was low, and she could see he was wearing a long, dark red coat of crushed velvet, with gold embroidery on the sides. He was simply sitting there with his arms across the top of the bench's back. If he had not moved his left hand to scratch his head, she would've thought him asleep. Even from behind he looked inexplicably familiar, but she couldn't place who he was or why he was familiar. She felt no fear however, simply curiosity. She took a step toward him as quietly as she could. His head twitched to the right lightning quick and twitched back just as fast. She kept walking until she was within touching distance of him. She had just opened her mouth to speak when he said "Yes, miss?"

Joannah's mouth dropped. His voice. It was THE voice. "I…Excuse me sir, I…" Joannah swallowed the lump in her throat. "Excuse me sir, but were you calling my name a few moments ago?"

"I was calling no one." He replied, and her heart sank. "But if I were to be calling you, what would I be saying?"

"Joannah Darling, sir," she replied.

"Joannah Darling, did you say?" he asked, turning around. Though Joannah knew it was improper to think such thoughts about a stranger, she couldn't help thinking that he was really quite handsome. Older than she, but not very old. He was maybe in his late twenties, early thirties. Even with him sitting and Joannah standing, she was still only a short ways above eye level with him. Eye level… Joannah looked into his eyes, and her breath caught in her chest. They were a bright forget-me-not blue, and they looked upon her with such a penetrating stare that she felt very nearly entranced. With a jolt of shock she realized that she recognized those eyes. They were the eyes she had been drawing over and over again for weeks! But how could they be? She had never seen this man before in her life! Still unable to speak while under his piercing gaze, she nodded. "No relation to THE Wendy Darling?" he said, smiling slightly. Finally able to regain her composure, Joannah replied,

"If only, sir. You have no idea how much or how long I've wished to fly away to Neverland as she did. I would do anything to somehow get there."

He arched an eyebrow. "Really?" he said a bit sceptical. "Even getting there entailed being kidnapped by pirates?"

Joannah's eyes lit up at the prospect. "Especially if it entailed being kidnapped by pirates. I've always been intrigued by Captain Hook. It would be splendid to meet him. Even more so to sail with him." The man's eyes smiled. "But I apologize sir. I do not know your name…"

"James," he replied, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Joannah was not sure why.

"James. No relation to THE James Hook?" she joked, grinning.

"Captain James Hook, actually. And related? One might say that." she cocked her head in confusion. He looked her up and down and raised his eyebrow again. "You're shivering quite violently, dear one. Tis a bit of a cold night to be running about in merely one's nightdress; in bare feet no less."

Joannah looked down at her lack of dress. "Oh!" she exclaimed, having quite forgotten that she was indeed much underdressed against the night's chill. She was shivering rather, as James put it, violently.

"Yes, well…when I heard, or rather, when I thought I heard, someone calling me, I suppose I forgot about proper attire."

"You're fortunate to have come upon a gentleman then." He replied, standing and removing his jacket. "Come. Take my coat. I'll take you back from whence you came. It's too late at night now for a young woman of your beauty to be walking alone." She blushed, looking unsure.

"I don't know if I should, sir," she hesitated.

"No." he held up his hand. "I will hear no more of it. Come." After some coaxing on his part, she agreed and they started back along the path; James holding his hands behind his back; Joannah looking amusingly small wrapped up in his large coat. They walked in silence for a bit. Joannah hardly realized this, for she was enjoying the scent of his coat. It smelled of spices, tobacco and…the sea? *sniff* yes, the sea. It smelled lovely. After a moment he said, "Your story of how you came to be here is almost alarmingly coincidental."

"And why is that?"

"I came here for the same reason. I thought I heard someone calling my name. A voice not unlike yours, actually."

"That is almost alarmingly coincidental." She agreed. Turning her head to look at him, she continued "Even more so, the voice I heard was exactly like your own." She tilted her head and looked out into the night. "But I suppose it couldn't have been either one of us, could it? Up until a moment ago I didn't know who you were, and I'm sure you didn't know me." She looked up into his face, as if for clarification.

"Aye," he said. "I did not." They continued to walk along. Joannah was extremely happy. Tonight certainly had been, if not quite an adventure, a bit exciting. But what of the voice? She was certain it was his, but that was impossible. She shoved the matter to the back of her mind; hoping to forget about it. "Well," she said, timidly. "That is my house across the way." They crossed the road and Joannah hopped onto her doorstep, turned and removed his coat. He took it in his left hand, and she thanked him for walking her home.

"No need for thanks, dear one," he replied. "However I must now take my leave." She smiled at him once more and bid him goodnight. He waited until she was in her house, then began to walk back to whence HE came. Joannah peeked through the curtains to watch him leave. He was slowly disappearing in the gathering fog. Then Joannah saw his hand. Rather, where his right hand should've been. All Joannah saw in its place was a flash of curved metal. Suddenly Joannah's thoughts started rushing. "Related? One might say that." James. The eyes…

Joannah was out the door in a flash. She ran wildly into the fog. Was he gone? No! He couldn't be! Captain James Hook had been right in front of her and she hadn't even realized! She needed to find him! She couldn't stay here. It was no longer her home. Her parents wanted her to marry a horrid man. They would never do that unless…they didn't want her there anymore. Joannah felt tears stinging her eyes. A few agonized drops escaped down her cheeks. She had to leave. "WAIT!" she screamed into the fog. "DON'T GO! PLEASE!" She looked about. She couldn't see a thing except for the curling fog. He couldn't be gone! No! More tears came. She made one last call. "CAPTAIN!!!!" There came no reply.

She had missed her chance. Her last chance to escape and live the life she'd always dreamed of. Everything everyone had nearly convinced her was make believe was real! Her prayed for chance at her dreams had finally come, and now it was gone. Why hadn't she seen his hook? Why hadn't she recognized him even without seeing it? He had been the figure who haunted her dreams for years! If only she had been more aware! Maybe she could've convinced him to allow her aboard; to be an extra hand! But it was too late now. He was gone and probably would never be back. Tears poured from her eyes in alarming amounts. Joannah felt pure anguish. The fog was so thick now that she couldn't even see her own hand as she tried to wipe the tears away. She stumbled through, trying to find home. Suddenly she tripped on something sharp. Pain seared through her leg. She reached down and felt a gash from her knee to her ankle. There was much blood. Feeling utter despair, Joannah curled up into a ball in the grass, and wept. She was so very tired. The last thing she saw was a shadow looming over her just as she fell into the warm, black depths of sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

"Captain?" Smee said as Captain Hook boarded the Jolly Roger (which had been tied to a dock in an abandoned port), an unconscious young girl in his arms. He held his right hand at an awkward angle, most likely so as to not injure her with his deadly hook. The captain had insisted on making a trip to, of all places, London, in great haste. He had told the crew that he was in need of some foreign supplies, but Smee had been thinking of things along the lines of rum, or Caribbean cigars. Being who he was (more of a wayward grandfather type than a cutthroat pirate), he hardly considered a young lady to be supplies. He wouldn't put it past some of the crew, but the Captain? He could be vicious at times, yes, but he was never a one to kidnap. Well, never mind, yes he was. But only when it would benefit his plans to end Pan. Never for reasons of more, well, never for OTHER reasons. This girl couldn't be more then sixteen, and she did not look of any significant importance. It was now that Smee saw a deep gash from bit below the girl's knee to her ankle along her right leg. Now he understood. I f there was one thing Captain believed in, it was good form. It would certainly not be good form to leave a girl that you had found unconscious and bleeding in the street. Smee smiled to himself. He enjoyed the few moments in which you could almost see the Captains former self, the one that wasn't plagued with rage.

"Mister Smee! Please bring the alcohol, needles and thread to my cabin please. NOW." Then, as an afterthought, "Best bring some rum as well, lest she should wake." Smee fairly flew down to the hull (pardon the pun) and fetched the proper accoutrements and raced back upstairs to the Captain's cabin. The Captain had already placed the girl on an over-stuffed armchair next to the fireplace, in which the Captain had already produced a roaring fire. Smee placed the bottle of rum, disinfectant, towel, and the wooden box of needles and thread onto a nearby table. He then poured a generous amount of disinfectant into a silver bowl. He dipped the towel into it, and began dabbing in on the wound. The Captain stood behind the chair, watching Smee clean the wound. Smee looked at the Captain from under his lashes. If he was concerned, his face didn't show it. But he hand was gripping the top of the chair's back so hard that his knuckles were white…

Hook watched Smee clean the wound. To his surprise she did not wake, despite the searing pain that would undoubtedly come with placing such a large amount of alcohol on such a large wound. Hook walked away from Joannah and Smee to look out his cabin window. He watched the undulating sea, far below the air-borne ship, contemplating the issue at hand. He supposed that the cat was out of the bag now. The girl had unmasked him. He supposed it was his hook that had given him away. He'd done a good job of concealing it when she was with him. He had not thought that she was watching him as he left. He smiled to himself, thinking of their talk. He had always intrigued her, did he? The thought amused him. It would be splendid to meet him, would it? Even more so to sail with him? He smile fell though, as he thought about another aspect of their conversation. She had her him calling her, or so she said. What he had said was true; he had not been calling her. But he did admit (without knowing why) that he had come all the way to London for the very same reason. It did seem to be her voice as well… Blast it. He was probably going mad. Pan's fault, no doubt. He actually shook his head, dismissing the thought. What was important now was, "stitching her up" before she lost what little blood she had left. As of now Hook was startled out of his reverie by an agonized scream. He turned, whip-like, to find that Joannah had woken just as Smee had threaded the needle through her delicate flesh on the first side of the gash. Her eyes were filled with terror and confusion. Startled, Smee nearly dropped the needle.

"Oh I am sorry miss! But it's got to be done! You've lost so much blood already!" Smee exclaimed, only slightly panicked. He had reason to be so unsettled. She was still bleeding profusely (even through the towel Smee had placed on the area he had not gotten too yet in an attempt to stanch the wound). So much that Hook couldn't tell if it was his imagination or not that was making him almost see the colour leaving her skin. They would need to act quickly. Hook rushed over to them. He stood behind Joannah's chair, leaning over her to hold her arms down to the arms of the chair; eliminating her ability to fight off Smee. With his hooked hand, he caught her small wrist in the curve of the lethal steel, so as not to injure her further. She saw him and calmed a bit, but she was still too much in state of shock to register what was really happening. She clenched her fists and bit her lip; trying not to cry out in pain, but as Smee pulled the second stitch closed, she couldn't bare it. She let out a gasp laced with suffering and turned her face into the sleeve of his velvet jacket. He felt hot tears wet the fabric and seep into his skin.

Hook felt…oh blast it all! What was that word? He felt as if he were feeling the same pain as she was, and he was sad for her…it would come to him in a minute… he rarely felt this emotion at all…Pity! That's it, pity! He pitied her! It was at this moment that Hook remembered the rum. "Smee! Pour Miss Darling a glass of rum before we continue, please." Smee was confused. Miss Darling? Surely this girl could not be Wendy Darling? Even with the time difference between Neverland and, well, the other world, Wendy would be about twice this girl's age by now, though if his memory served they did look alike. Smee realized he was still standing there only when the Captain yelled "Smee! Now!" Smee rushed to pour Miss Darling (?) a glass of rum.

Hook grabbed the glass and brought it to Joannah's lips. She spluttered and tried to refuse. "Damn it girl! Drink!" She shook her head, then cried out as Smee began another stitch. The horrible feeling in Hook's chest as he looked at her was almost unbearable. The was still a long expanse of wound to seam together. Knowing that her suffering would last much longer than she could possibly bare without the rum, he needed to get her to drink it. Almost immediately, his eyes went to his hook. He sighed inwardly. He did not want to have to use it against her. He made sure his eyes took on a dark, threatening look (which was alarmingly easy) and yelled for Smee to stop.

Joannah looked to him, and he could see a flash of fear the instant their eyes met. He wondered absent mindedly if his eyes had gone a shade of crimson that he knew they did even though he was not actually very enraged. In an instant he had raised his hook to her ivory neck. "I honestly suggest that you drink it, Miss Darling. I am well aware that it burns at first, but being at the mercy of the mermaids would be much worse, would it not?" She did not respond, but only looked up at him in naked fear, craning her head back away from his hook. He faltered in his charade. He softened his voice and knelt before her so that his face was inches from her own, bringing his hook down to rest on her arm. "I promise you, it will end your pain." The fear had now left her face, and she slowly nodded. She took the glass from him and drained it. the brought her lips back and coughed, shutting her eyes in disgust. "Thank you," she said, her sweet voice slightly raspy from the drink. He nodded to her in reply.

Smee began to advance toward her with the needle again, but Hook motioned for him to stop. "Wait a moment for the rum to affect her, Smee." "Yes Captain," he replied. "I just get a fresh towel, then," and he left the cabin.

"Now then," said Hook, "What on earth did you do to yourself, Miss Darling?"

"I don't know, sir. I was looking for you, I stumbled over something sharp, and the next thing I know I'm being stabbed by a man I have never seen before in my life without the slightest knowledge as to where I am." She blinked and looked back up to find that he had pulled a nearby chair over and was now sitting on it in front of her. "Which I would like to know, if you do not mind telling me, Captain." She said 'Captain' as if it were a question.

"Captain it is, Miss Darling. You have unmasked me, then?" She blushed, but did not look away. "In answer to your previous question, you are aboard the Jolly Roger, bound to Neverland."

"No!" she exclaimed, practically shouting. "Do you mean it?"

"I would not have said so if I did not. Is it an issue for you, Miss Darling? Because I am afraid that there is no turning back at the moment."

"No!" she shouted again. Then bringing her voice down, she said, "No, no! Please don't send me back! That's not what I meant! It's just that for a moment I couldn't believe it!"

"And why is that?"

"It's just that…dreams do not usually come true."

_Hi everyone! Thanks for being so patient! I know that this one is kind of short, but I did not want to keep you waiting anymore! Don't worry, this is NOT the end!!!!_


	3. Chapter 3

"It's just that…dreams do not usually come true."

Her statement struck him out of his eloquent composure for a moment. "Dreams, Miss Darling? This," he leaned back in his chair and made a sweeping motion with his good hand, first indicating her bloodied leg and then his cabin, "has been a lifelong desire of yours?"

"Not the wound, Captain; but I do thank you immensely for treating it." she hurriedly finished, eyes brimming with earnest.

"Not at all. But tell me something…"

"Anything," she said.

"I may not have lived by the rules of English society for a very long time indeed, but if memory serves it is generally frowned upon for a young lady such as yourself to have a lust for piracy, even pirates. Is it not?" he asked in a mocking tone, his eyes shining slightly. A rose coloured flush crept into her cheeks.

"I have not a _lust_ for piracy sir, but one for adventure. Which unfortunately yes, is generally frowned upon," she replied, frowning herself.

"You have not denied that you have a lust for pirates my dear," he baited, daring her to remain silent. She grew steadily redder.

"Do not speak to me in such a manner, sir. I have a lust, as you put it, for neither."

"Well," he started, getting up from his chair and walking to the window, "if you really detest us all that much I suppose I could take you back once you've healed…"

"NO!" she exclaimed, jumping up. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten about the gaping slash in her right leg. She cried out in pain and fell to the floor, clutching at the area around the wound. Hook walked toward her.

"Well, that certainly was foolish," he commented, cradling his arms around her. She gasped. "Really Captain, I can get up myself, thank you."

"Can you now?" he asked coolly, his face mere inches away from hers. "Are you quite certain?" Once again thrown off guard by his piercing gaze, Joannah found herself only able to nod. "Very well," he amended, backing away. "Have at it." Now, Joannah knew as well as Hook did that she could not get up on her own. She had just found it extremely disconcerting to be in the arms of the dark, eloquent, handsome (she could go on describing) pirate captain before her. Still she attempted to rise, failing once, twice, thrice; all the while with the captain watching her with a slightly smug expression on his face. On her fourth attempt she fell on top of her injured leg. She refrained from crying out in pain, but a single tear did escape down her cheek. The captain stopped grinning and went to her.

"Enough of this nonsense," he said. "Let me help you." He said the sentence as if he were actually asking her permission, but he had already swung her as gently as possible into his arms, his hook curved away from her shoulder. He placed her down on the chair. "We can only afford to wait a few more minutes for the rum to numb your wound, it seems; though the bleeding has slowed much," he said, assessing the long gash. "I shall call for Smee in a moment, and then we shall finish up, shall we?" She swallowed visibly and nodded. "I give you my word that it will not be nearly as painful as it was."

She chuckled slightly, looking at the floor and replied, "From what I've heard, your word is not always as reliable as it sounds." She had meant it as a joke, but the minute the words left her mouth she regretted them. That had been incredibly rude. This man had just saved her in more ways than one; more ways than necessary. Despite his sinister nature and less than admirable intentions that she had come to know throughout her childhood, she was indebted to him. Probably more so than she could ever hope to repay. When she looked at him, however, he was smiling at her.

"Indeed, Miss Darling. As of yet, however, you have not given me reason to toss you overboard or other such homely demises. YET." He smiled up at her again, and she could not help smiling back. "Well, it is safe to say that the rum has settled in to your system now," he continued, smiling wider.

"How can you tell?" Joannah asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Because I just quite nearly punctured the skin around your cut with my hook, and it's apparent that you did not feel a thing." He smiled again, a slight twinge of something very close to mischief at the corners of his eyes.

"How did you…how did you know it was working?" she said, wide eyed.

"I did not. I, to the extent of the phrase, 'took a shot in the dark' and braced myself for a scream," he replied, quite obviously pleased when her eyes became wider still.

"If you were planning on ever gaining my trust, _Captain_ Hook, that little trick did not help matters," said Joannah indignantly, sitting up straighter.

"You forget, Miss Darling, that you are incapacitated, surrounded by pirates, on_ my_ ship, where things go _my_ way. I daresay you'll have to trust me."

She grew quiet at this piece of knowledge. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. She looked quite comical, really. Smugly, he rose and went to the door, stuck his head out and yelled for Smee. He needn't have done so, for Smee was already at the door. "Is Miss Darling, ready, Captain?" he asked, peeking around the Captain to gaze at Joannah, who smiled tentatively. Smee smiled back and fairly skipped toward her as Hook moved to the side. "Are we ready, Miss Darling?" said Smee, kneeling before her with the needle in hand. "Apparently so, Mister Smee; thank you. And please, call me Joannah." She replied. So no, this was not THE Miss Darling. Joannah, however, seemed like quite a sweet girl to Smee. "Joannah," said Smee, threading the needle again. Glancing up at her, he continued, "I should not be long." And he began to sew the wound closed.

Joannah could feel the stitches, but it was dulled now; the pain was very near non-existent. Smee had been very right, as merely a few minutes had passed by the time he was done. "There," he said, knotting off the last stitch. "Good as new." He smiled up at Joannah, then looked towards the Captain, who had been off to the side, watching. "Will either of you be needing anything else for the night, Captain?"

"No, thank you Smee. It is getting to be rather late, and I suspect Miss Darling would like some rest. Is that right, Miss Darling?"

"I would, thank you Captain. And thank you as well, Mister Smee." She did look very tired. Her eyelids were drooping dangerously low.

"Very well then. You may go, Mister Smee." Smee nodded, and got up to leave. Hook quickly surveyed the room as a thought entered his mind. She would have to sleep in here, of course. Anywhere else would be out of the question. Certainly any place near the crew. "Mister Smee?" he said, just before Smee was out the door.

"Aye, Cap'n?"

"A few extra blankets, actually, if you would."

"Aye, Cap'n," he agreed, shutting the door behind him.

"Now then," Hook continued, turning around to face Joannah. "Miss Darl-…" but she had fallen asleep in her chair. "Oh no you don't. Come now, up you get." He ordered, picking her up and placing her on his bed. He pulled the covers over her and made sure her leg was somewhat braced between two extra pillows. Satisfied that she was comfortable, he made his way to the couch and sat down. It was then that she woke up. She blinked a few times and looked about the room until she found him. She looked at his position on the couch, then at her own in the middle of the bed. Realization dawned on her face. "Oh, Captain! Really! I can sleep on the couch!" she made to sit up, but Hook had gone to her side in a flash. He firmly (but gently) pushed her shoulders back until she was lying down again. "No," he said simply.

"Captain really, I couldn't. You've done enough for me alrea-…"

"No." he said again."I will not have it. And that is an order, Miss Darling."

She paused, her eyes searching his face for some reason unbeknownst to him. She smiled then, saying "Thank you." He nodded in response. He removed his jacket, leaving himself in a plain white silk shirt and his breeches, then went over to douse the exceedingly large amount of candles that lit the room. She watched his image grow fainter and fainter with the dimming of the light and the drooping of her eyes until only his shadow was left. She watched as the shadow went over to the desk and lit a small oil lamp, and the picture of the Captain returned. He silently sat down on his chair and began to look over some maps. Maps of the Neverland, no doubt. She absently thought that she would like to look at them tomorrow. He opened a nearby book with his hook, pulled it towards him and began to write with a black feather quill. She yawned, finding the light scratching of quill tip against paper oddly comforting. She closed her eyes. "Goodnight, Captain." She was surprised to hear herself say these words, but they only seemed natural.

The scritch scratch of the quill paused. He turned his head to the side. "Goodnight, dear one." And with that, Joannah, warm, comfortable, and very, very tired, drifted off into a soft, velvet sleep.

Captain Hook continued to make notes on various commandeered supplies, but was more focused on listening to the girl's breathing. It was beginning to become deep and even. He turned around to gaze upon her sleeping face. She looked so peaceful lying there. Her face calm, her hair a halo of silk around her head. He wished that he could ever be that at peace. He did not think he had ever been _completely_ at peace since he had arrived in Neverland. No, that's not true. Since that wretched urchin of a boy had removed his right hand. And god knows how long it had been since then. How long it had been since he had been trapped in this cursed place which he had once thought to be beautiful. In all honesty, it really was. Beautiful, that is. Enchanted, really. But even such a magical place as Neverland can lose its charm when it becomes a prison.

For he, Neverland was a sort of prison without bars. He could return to the, well, the other world (real world?) whenever he pleased; weather and fairy dust supply permitting. But only for very short periods of time. He had been a part of the Neverland's youthful magic for so long, that back in the other world, he aged at an alarming rate. He could only stay in his present physical age for a few days. After that, his every day would be two for anyone else. It does not sound like much, but days begin to add up.

He felt that it was the little menace's fault that he had been forced to throw his old life away. Whether that was true or not, it WAS the boy's fault that he was being ever tortured each day. Pan was the very essence of this place. He owned, so to speak, nearly everything. The miserable beast could take anything away from him whenever he pleased. Hook had a few things of which to take joy in. Smee's companionship and loyalty, his power as Captain, his collection of literature, battles, even hunting _it _(Pan) was sometimes a bit of an enjoyment when Hook occasionally had the upper hand. Upper hook, rather. But the one he loved the most was the sea. _His_ sea. The sea was his consolation, his confidant, his entire self. It had been his escape when he had first jumped into piracy. It had saved him. Yet all of these things Pan could take away if he had a mind to. And he did, occasionally; aside of his average raids and attacks and such. The more Hook thought about the boy, the more angry he became. And as he grew angrier, he could feel his eyes grow warm, probably changing into that legendary crimson. He glanced at his hook, and more enraged thoughts came. By now he was as rabid as a dog. Then his eyes fell over Joannah.

Her chest was rising and falling rhythmically, and Hook calmed himself by trying to match his breathing to hers. This he did for a few moments, then a few moments more. When he finally stopped, he was pleased and surprised to see that it had worked. He no longer felt the fire in his eyes, and his mind was calm. He looked out of his window. They had almost reached the Neverland; he could tell by color of the sea, which was growing steadily bluer. He also realized how late it must have been, for the moon was drifting low in the sky. He discovered himself to be very, very tired. Hook removed his shirt and began to undo the various clasps and straps of the leather contraption that held his hook in place. He sighed in pleasure as it fell away onto the chair. It was a new one that Smee had sewn for him (having broken his old one whilst in a dispute with some of the natives), and he had not broken in the new leather yet. He looked down at his bare chest to discover various tiny cuts and whip-mark-like red welts.

Blasted thing. Another one of his griefs caused by that son of a…Hook took a deep breath. He wasn't going to start that again. He laid down on the couch, wrapping himself in the blankets Smee had brought. He let his stump-arm fall over the side of the couch (so as to keep it from his sight, most likely), and turned his face to the window, watching the stars. He was nearly asleep when he heard a creaking sound. Looking over to his bed, he found that Joannah had turned over in her sleep; her face was now towards him again. The moonlight lit her face, and Hook was struck by what an angelic face she had. The silence was broken as she let out the smallest of sighs. It was a sigh of the content sort. Smiling to himself, Hook too drifted off into a comfortable, almost completely peaceful sleep.

_To my dear Readers,_

_I realize that i have touched on a bit of our dear Captain's feelings on Peter Pan, but this story is not about the Boy who wouldn't grow up. This story will take a different turn entirely. If you would like to read a story where Peter Pan is chiefly envolved, this particular tale is not for you. He might show up once or twice, but he is not exactly invited to this party. I do promise you though, that you will most likely enjoy what this tale has to offer. That is, however, for you to decide._

_Love, Imagination and Magic,_

_Pixie_


	4. Chapter 4

The Captain awoke the next morning just as the first few shreds of dawn broke through the sky, as he did most days. The first sound that came to his ears was the cry of an early tropical bird. 'So we've arrived,' he thought. The second sound made his ears prick with alarm; another person's breathing. With reflexes that come with being one of the most feared pirate captains of the seven seas, he was standing up, his pistol raised in hand. Had you blinked, you would have missed the single, fluid motion.

Hook looked about the room wildly, expecting an attack, when memory washed over him. He exhaled. His eyes found a small lump in the multiple blankets of his bed. The girl. He supposed that he should remove the blankets from her face; there couldn't be very much air underneath them. He walked silently to the bed, first pulling back the lower half for a moment to check on her leg. To his satisfaction the stitches had remained closed, even with her having curled into a ball as she slept. He pulled the lower half back down, then reached for the top end. Now, James Hook was not easily surprised, but what he saw next caused him to take a sharp intake of breath.

Joannah was on her back with her arms thrown back on either side of her face. Sometime during the night the sleeves of her white linen nightdress had pushed up to her elbows, exposing sets of wide, merged-together bruises that ringed around each forearm. 'Such odd marks,' thought Hook, wondering what could have caused them. His eyes searched her face, alarmed. He then saw something peeking just beyond the top of her nightdress. Without hesitation, he reached out and pulled the fabric down slightly. 'Bloody hell,' he thought, as he pulled the fabric down further still. Stretched diagonally across the flat expanse of skin between her chest and neck was a large red welt; rectangular with rounded ends. 'In places where no one would see them.' With that thought Hook knew what had caused her marks. He placed his hand an inch above the welt. The shape matched. He pulled his hand back and gently placed it around one of the sets of bruises on her arm. The same result. "Dear God," he said aloud, whispering. "Who dared harm you?"

There was a knock at the door. The Captain hastily pulled the covers back over her and moved away from the bed. "Enter," he said, his confident, power-filled tone of voice returning once more. Smee peeked his head through the door. "Good morning, Mister Smee."

"Morning Cap'n. I thought I heard you movin' about. Would you like any help with your straps this morning?" He was referring to the Captain's hook contraption.

"The ones at the back, if you would, Smee," replied the Captain.

"Not at all, sir." Smee moved behind Hook and began to fasten the straps and clasps that were out of the Captains reach. "How is Miss Darling fairing, Cap'n?"

"Quite well Smee. You did a fair job with her wound. I thank you."

Smee fairly glowed with pride, then finished tying the last of the Captain's hook together. Smee spoke up as Hook pulled on a shirt. "Captain?" Hook turned 'round to face him. "Yes, Smee?"

"I don't mean to pry sir, but what happened last night? Where did the girl come from?"

Captain Hook hesitated in telling him the story, but only for a moment. He would trust Smee with his life, and what had happened last night wasn't of enough severity to keep it from him. He recounted the whole event to him; even his own strange hearing of a voice. He did not mention, however, that he was almost sure that the voice he heard had been Joannah's. When he had finished, they both stood in silence for a moment. "That is quite a tale Captain. How strange, as well. Do you suspect the girl of lying?" The Captain did not even have to think. "No Smee, I don't think she was." They paused again, both looking at Joannah, still sleeping soundly. Smee smiled. "Well, she seems like a sweet little one, at any rate." Hook smiled at Smee's grandfather-side seeping out. "That she is, Smee. A fan of ours, you know."

"Is she, Cap'n?" said Smee, obviously pleased.

"Indeed. She told me so as I was taking her home. She had not yet recognized me then, you see."

Smee smiled again. "Sweet girl." The Captain chuckled. Smee spoke again, "But what are we to do with her, Cap'n?"

Hook thought for a moment. "We cannot do anything until she has healed. I suppose we shall cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Aye aye sir. Shall I make you both some breakfast then?"

"Smee, I believe that would be wonderful."

"Aye sir. I'll bring it up when it's ready."

"Thank you Smee. I'll be out in a moment to signal the next switch for the dogwatch." And with that, Smee left the room, leaving the Captain alone once more. Well, almost alone. The girl was stirring. She would wake soon. Hook was thinking about what to say to her when she woke. Should he ask her about her marks? The thought of someone beating her inexplicably filled him with rage. Who would dare-…The Captain stopped himself. What did he care? He had quite literally just met this insignificant little person. Why should he feel anger at the thought of someone hurting her? He himself had attempted to make Wendy Darling walk the plank all those years ago, and she had been much younger than the girl lying before him. He mentally shrugged the thought away, but it came right back. 'Damn it all,' he thought. 'You can't possibly be going soft after all these years, can you?' He most certainly could NOT be going soft. He was, after all, James Hook.

At that moment, one of the windows of his cabin smashed inward, sending shards of glass flying. Hook ripped out his pistol and shot through the window, hoping to hit the cause of the attack. Apparently he had missed. A small blond head was laughing at him, grinning broadly. It shot upwards into the sky. "Damn!" Hook shouted, craning his next out the window and shooting at random. It was no use, the boy had gone. Hook turned, livid. Joannah was right behind him, looking frightened and confused. "What happened?" she said. Hook opened his mouth to speak, when there was a loud, frantic clanging from the warning bell. "Fire!" someone was shouting. "Fire on the main deck!"

Hook cursed mightily, running to the door. It was that wretched boy's doing! He would kill him… For those of you who have never sailed before, your ship catching fire is a very dangerous matter indeed. Many of those who are ignorant to nautical matters will say, "What better time could there be for something to catch fire than when it's surrounded by water?" Well my dears, think of it like this. If one had contracted an incurable disease, would it help if that person was surrounded by doctors? I think not. But we were not talking of medical cases, were we? Now where was I…

Hook cursed mightily, running to the door. It was that wretched boy's doing! He would kill him… At almost the exact instant that he had reached for the door handle, he turned back around and swung Joannah into his arms. She gasped in surprise, but he simply ignored her. She would not be safe here; not with the fire being so close to the cabin. He kicked open the door and marched out onto the deck. He was instantly met with an almost unbearable wave of heat. He stepped back, looking around in a panic. The left side of the main deck was ablaze, with one tongue of flame stretching across almost the complete width of the deck. There was no time to waste. He nimbly jumped across a place where the flame was low, and went as quickly as he could to the bow of the ship (as far away from the flame as he could put the girl) and set her down. "Stay here." He ordered. "But-…" she started to protest. "Stay here, Miss Darling, or I will personally escort you overboard!" he shouted, and she nodded. He turned and ran back to where the crew was battling against the flames; throwing water onto them and trying to beat it out with burlap sacks.

He grabbed a pail of water from a passing crew member and through it onto the flames, but to no avail. "More water!" he shouted as men scrambled this way and that in desperation. The Captain looked about wildly for something he could use, but instead he found a line of flame dancing dangerously close to the royal yard, the main mast. "No!" If the mast caught fire, they would surely be doomed. Some crew member (he didn't see who) threw him a burlap sack. The Captain rushed over and began beating at the flame. He beat it back from the mast, but a renegade flame licked across one of the ropes that held the main top sail in place. Hook immediately took out his knife as the fire climbed up the rope and lit the edge of a sail. Holding the knife in his teeth, he climbed the ratlines to the height of the sail and… jumped! He gouged his hook into the side of the jib and swung himself up until he was straddling it, a few feet from the flaming edge of the sail. He got to his feet and edged his way across, slicing all of the ropes that held down the bottom edge of the sail. The wind picked up a notch and sent the bottom corner snapping violently, nearly throwing the Captain off. Starkey, one of the crew, had been up in the crow's nest when the fire began, and thankfully he had seen the Captain's plight. Starkey had already cut off all but two of the top ropes, and if Hook could free the last bottom one, it would be the difference between life and death for all on board. The fire on the deck they could control, but anything on the mast or the sails…disastrous.

He had reached the final rope, the one that was holding down the flaming corner, which was pulled taught against the strain of the wildly twisting wind. After he had freed this edge, Starkey would finish the top and the sail would be blown into the water. Hook began to cut. It cut freely. Too freely. The edge of the sail curled in on itself and snapped back, whipping Hook clear across his neck. He fell.

Joannah had been watching this heroic scene from the bow, where she had been ordered to stay. The Captain had reached the last rope cut it free! She jumped up (ignoring the slight pain in her leg) and nearly cheered. But wait, something was wrong. The sail snapped back. And he was falling! "No!" she screamed, unheard amidst the crew's panicked yelling, and ran for the main mast.

The pain was excruciating. The burn covered the whole front side of his throat and the top of his chest. It was a bad burn, 'tis true, but it hurt so much at that moment that Captain Hook was nearly certain that he had been struck by Hellfire. The pain blinded him, numbed his senses. He could hear faint gruff yelling, and someone was shaking him, but he could not tell who. A small, soft hand lightly touched his burn. He was very sure that the pain of _that_ nearly killed him. Unable to speak save for loud, agonized breathing, he struck out and the unseen being. He felt his hand make contact and fling the thing off. It came back quickly. He wanted to shout at it, to yell "Get AWAY!" But no words could form on his lips. Then he heard a voice. Still faint, but clearer than the rest of the sounds that swirled around him. A feminine lilt. Like bells. Sweet, crystal bells. "Captain!" it was shouting. "Captain!" It sounded terrified. He suddenly felt the urge to comfort the voice. 'It's alright' he wanted to say. Instead he deftly reached out like a blind man, searching for it physically. The same soft hand took his and held it tightly. Then everything went black.


	5. Dreams

If the pain of the Captain's burn had been excruciating, the dreams that came to him while he was unconscious were unbearable. While he was unable to feel any physical pain, memories of his old life that he had forgotten faded in and out. Finding himself to be standing and spelling out the word "amnesty" of all things, a small wooden cutlass with a painted hilt, the smell of something warm and sweet floating around him as he ran down a set of stairs; jumping the last three steps. And the most tantalizing of all; a woman with curly black hair smiling down at him. Each time that he began to feel that he was starting to recognize and understand an image, it slipped away into the dark. The dark! It was suffocating! It pushed him down, made his already numbed senses foggy. It was maddening. Worse than any physical agony he had ever experienced. It mattered not how much he tried. Everything he had previously held dear was no longer within his grasp…


	6. To My Dear Readers

My dear readers,

I regret to inform you that the continuation of this tale shall need to be put on hold for a bit. Rest assured, I AM NOT ABANDONING IT!!!! It WILL be continued, and you WILL obtain the rest, it is simply that I shan't be able to record any more of it for a (hopefully) short period of time. There was an incident some nights ago that I shan't go into details about, but it entailed a hoard of angry mermaids, and a misplaced lit match. Regrettably, some time throughout the whole ordeal, the documents containing my notes on our tale (which are of course, of great importance) were either stolen or destroyed. Either way, they are no longer in my possession, and I will have to start afresh, but I will put up the next chapter as quickly as I am able. Once again, I AM NOT ABANDONING THIS STORY!!! My dear readers, I thank you sincerely for your patience. And please, if you have any questions or comments on anything you have read, do express them in a review and I will answer them. Once again, thank you all so much for your patience.

Love, Imagination and Magic,

Pixie


	7. Chapter 7

While the Captain was seemingly fighting a losing battle with his subconscious mind, I know that some of you will be asking yourselves, 'Where is our strong hearted, adventurous Joannah throughout all this?' Well, you all may take comfort in knowing that she is certainly not one to cower in fright and wait for someone to save her, nor is she one to panic; but I should think that you had that figured out by now. Throughout the whole affair, starting with the fire, she had been the most level-headed one of all. True, she _had_ been ordered to stay where she was during the blaze, and did so (until of course, she rushed to Hook's aid), she had faith in the crew and the Captain. She knew that this could not possibly be the first time in all their years of sailing that their vessel had been set aflame. She knew that they could put it out. Even now, as the crew worked vigorously to mend what damage the flames had done, she herself was as busy as they. The Captain had been unconscious for two days now, having hit his head quite badly when he fell to the deck, and since the moment that Smee and Gentleman Starkey had carried their Captain into his cabin Joannah had instantaneously made it her business to heal him.

What's that you say, dear readers? What could _she_, a young English _lady_ do? I believe it has been made clear that Joannah is not the simpering, obedient _lady_ (ha!) that society would have her to be. When she was younger, one of the games Joannah enjoyed playing (besides "Neverland" of course) was pretending to be a ship's doctor. Joannah's imagination is a vivid thing, and her need to learn very acute, and both of these qualities required her knowing the reality of all her pretending. She wished to have real medical training, and she obtained it the only way she knew how. Her exact methods I cannot speak of, lest these documents should fall into the hands of her parents, but rest assured that one of the things Joannah prides herself on is her sense of right and wrong. You may be sure that no harm was done to anyone/thing in her endeavours. Back in the present however, Joannah was hoping that her self-taught healing techniques would be enough.

The burn had not been as bad as it seemed when she had first laid eyes on it. It was indeed wide-spread, stretching diagonally across his throat and spreading throughout the tender region of flesh betwixt one's neck and chest, but it was not deep, and to Joannah's relief it was nothing that time and care could not cure. With luck there might not even be a scar. She had Smee bring her a few herbs from the island to make a good salve (which she spread onto the burn twice daily before redressing it) and so far it had been working. She also kept the Captain under five layers of blankets to keep him warm and keep the cold from the broken window away from him. This is because burns to the chest weaken the protection around one's lungs, making them more vulnerable to cold air and therefore, sickness. This was working so far also. However it would be lying to say that Joannah was free of worry. There was nothing to be done about his head wound, seeing as there was no cut or other such damage; simply a bump that would go down with time. It was that fact that made Joannah anxious.

The Captain had been unconscious for two days now, showing no signs of waking. He had opened his eyes a few times for a brief moment, but in all honesty, Joannah dreaded these moments rather than anticipating them as signs of improvement. Each time his eyes were full of something that Joannah could not name, but it was dreadful to see. A mixture of pain, confusion, sadness, anger, and on one occasion Joannah saw even the smallest spark of fear. He looked through her as if she were not there, and sometimes breathed rapidly as one who had been running for a long period of time. These moments passed quickly, but lingered on in Joannah's mind's eye long after that.

At the present time we are to find Joannah pounding still more herbs for a fresh salve with a mortar and pastel. The poor girl is so fatigued that it is all she can do to summon enough energy to bring the mortar up and down. Joannah had not slept since her first night aboard two days ago. She never allowed herself to stop working even when there was nothing to be done. She always found or made up another job to do, for she knew that if she were to sit down she would start to think, and there were too many things for her to think about at the moment. She had so many questions. She wanted to know if all the stories she had grown up with were true. She wanted to know everything about Neverland; the faeries and Indians, the lost boys and the mermaids, even Peter Pan. And of course there was the ship and the crew, but most of her questions surrounded the Captain. She had not been exaggerating when she said that he intrigued her. He was the one character in all of Neverland that she knew practically nothing about, and it was unsettling for her.

For instance, had he really been swallowed by the crocodile at the end of the legendary battle of the lost boys, Peter and the Darling children? If he had, how the devil had he escaped?

How did he come by having his right hand, er, removed? The story said that Peter Pan had cut it off and threw it to the crocodile, but that was it. Were they duelling? Had it been a silly prank on Peter's part? Joannah had taken off the Captain's hook (no easy task) so he would not injure himself while sleeping, and the stump had been a sight to behold. It was not ugly, nor that unpleasant at all, really. It was just unusual to see an arm lacking a hand. She had put some of her burn salve on his hook arm and shoulder as well, to hopefully heal the many sores from that leather thing he used to keep it in place.

Most of all, where did Captain James Hook come from? He had lived in England, went to Eton for his education, but what had he been like as a child? Did he have a family? He had impeccable manners, and from simply gazing at a few of the titles in his bookcase she could tell that he had a fine taste in literature. Shakespeare, the works of William Blake, Greek philosophers and poets, fairytales… the contents of that bookcase made Joannah simply drool. What class had he and his family been in? When had he turned to piracy? Had he always wanted to be a pirate?

Ugh! Joannah mentally shook her head. She did not want to think about such things now, or she would drive herself mad. There were more important things to worry about right now. Such as…such as… such a-…Oh dear! She's fallen asleep at the table! About time she had some rest, though I do say she doesn't look too comfortable. Hark! Do I hear a knocking at the door? I do! And there's dear old Smee with the laundry! He'll make sure Joannah gets properly to bed, no doubt! And it appears I am right!

Smee set the laundry down by the door and gently shook Joannah's shoulder. She woke with a start. "Oh! Hello, Mister Smee! I was just-…" she began, picking up her work once more. Smee cut her off.

"Now, now, miss. You've done quite enough. You've not slept in days! Now come along, off to bed with you! It's late!"

"But-…" Joannah began to protest, but she could see that she was not going to win by the look of Smee. Joannah smiled. At that moment she saw a bit of her own grandfather in the kindly old pirate. She relented and crawled under the blankets on the couch, managing a 'Goodnight' before her heavy eyelids fell. She was asleep instantly. Smee snuffed out the candles, and then, chuckling to himself, quietly closed the door before retiring to his own room for the night.

Joannah awoke in the wee hours of the morning, some few hours before dawn. The sky was still the darkest of blues and littered with stars, but there were a few shreds of grey along the horizon. Sometime during the night she had rolled off the couch and on to the floor. She stood up and reached down to her toes, stretching the stiffness out of her back. She immediately felt her way through the pitch darkness of the cabin to find the lamp on the desk, turning the key so that it let out the smallest amount of light; just enough so that she could see the outline of the Captain in his bed. She went over to him and used her sense of touch to check on is burn. She could no longer feel the cool velvet stickiness of the salve, so she made a mental note to put some more on later. Besides that she could also feel the burn beginning to dry up and lose its wetness, a very good sign that her salve was working. Brilliant. She began to pull the bandages back up when the Captain shifted beneath her hands, and she looked towards his face…

The Captain had been feeling that the darkness had slowly been lessening in the last little while. Becoming lighter, not pushing down on him so. The dreams had subsided as well, and he saw no more maddening visions. He had found his subconscious self to actually be annoyed at the fact that he was still unable to wake. He wished to get up and make sure that his ship was in order. Now that his dreams had ceased, there was just the dark, and he was becoming bored. Bored and annoyed. Really, he had things to do. If this bout of insanity had finally ceased, then why was he still immobile? 'Release me,' he thought, speaking to the dark. 'I demand that you leave me at once.' Sure enough, slowly but surely he began to feel the unintelligible weight lift from his body until he could feel everything again. He felt the smoothness of linen against his skin, and something courser around his chest and most annoyingly, his neck. He did not like that at all. It felt like a hangman's noose.

He could feel the gentle rocking of the ship. He could feel…brimstone and gal! Someone was pulling at the material around his neck. He envisioned some filthy scoundrel drawing out a knife with which to cut his throat. Why would this image come to mind, you say? Well, many people hold grudges against pirates, and Captain Hook happened to be a pirate on the receiving end on many of said grudges. Having so many people wanting you dead gives you remarkable reflexes, as well as a tendency to assume the worst. He opened his eyelids by the smallest measure, looking up through his eyelashes. It was so dark, he could only see a vague outline of the person, who was still easing the material on his neck down. Automatically, his good hand flew to the intruder's throat…

To Joannah's surprise, the forget-me-not blue eyes were open, staring back at her. Even more surprised was she to find that they were free of the hypnotic quality they usually had, and were filled with rage. Joannah gasped as the Captain's hand suddenly flew to her throat, panicking slightly as he tightened his grip, blocking her airways. Trying to speak, she managed a breathy "Captain!" To her relief, it was as if he had been snapped out of a dream. His hand immediately fell away, and he sat up like a shot.

"Miss Darling?" he said, sounding like someone who is trying to remember something.

"Yes sir. It's me."

"How…why am I…?" He let his question trail off, leaving her to guess the rest.

"The ship caught fire…you fell from the sails, Captain. Your chest is burned quite badly, though not as severe as one might think. Do you not remember?"

His eyes left her gaze and flicked back and forth across the bed, and he looked to be thinking very hard. Recognition suddenly flashed across his eyes. He remembered. "When?" was all he asked.

"You've been unconscious for three days now. I must say you gave us a bit of a scare."

"Three days?!" he exclaimed, raising his eyebrows. He stood up before Joannah could stop him and strode to his dresser, pulling out a pair of non-sleeping, unlike the ones he was wearing, pants. Joannah rushed over to tug them from his hands and put them back. He looked at her, aghast. "And just what do you think you're doing?"

"What do you think _you're _doing?" she countered. "You are not nearly strong enough to get back to work yet! Do you have any idea how hard you hit your head?"

"Don't tell me how strong you _think _I am, girl. I have been through worse than a bump on the head and a burn or two. I have the proof, too." He held up his stump, glaring. "And if you will get out of my way, I am getting back to my ship and crew. The dogs have probably begun to let the ship go to ruins, and if that is so, there will be hell to… hell to… to…" his sentence trailed off again, but this time it was not for effect. His right knee gave out suddenly, and he just slammed his hand on the top of the dresser and Joannah had just threw herself under his right arm before he fell, his stump arm draped across her shoulders. He removed his arm instantly and righted himself, using the dresser for support. He leaned against it heavily, his eyes closed and his breathing slightly harsh. He opened his eyes, looking at the floor, a mixture of shock and confusion filling them.

"You see?" Joannah said, slightly smug, but mostly worried. "_That _is why you are getting back to bed right this instant. No one on this ship has any idea how severe your 'bump on the head'," she quoted, sarcastically, "really is! And you are not leaving this room until you're completely ready." She put her hand son her hips and tried to make herself sound commanding as she spoke. "You've just gained consciousness, and I will not have you lapsing back into a comma."

He glared indignantly at her. "You are in no position, nor in any right, to order _me _about, Miss Darling. I am ruler on this ship, and rule I shall. Now, move." She did not move. "Miss Darling, it would be wise to do what I say, and to do it immediately." She still did not budge. Huffing angrily, he wrapped his hand around her forearm, intending to pull her away himself, when an image of marks on her skin from someone doing this exact thing flashed through his mind's eye. He dropped his hand.

Joannah raised her eyebrows at the sudden disappearance of his anger. He sighed. Joannah could barely hear him give a mumbled "Fine,", as well as some grumbling of words she could not quite decipher, but had a feeling that of which her mother would disapprove. He stomped back to his bed and lay himself down on top of the covers, crossing his arms lightly over his chest and scowling, looking very much like a child sent to his room. Joannah suppressed a laugh and went over to him and began to pull the blankets out from under him, intending to cover him up.

"Get off me girl, I can do it myself," he grumbled, swatting her hands. At this Joannah did laugh, and she went to the door.

"I'll send for Smee to bring you some breakfast. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you awake."

"I do not want anything, thank you very much, Miss Darling."

"Nonsense. You haven't eaten in three days. Four, actually, if you count the day of the fire." And ignoring his protests, she sent one of the passing pirates to send Smee up with some breakfast for the Captain.

"He's awake then?" the pirate that Joannah knew as Starkey asked.

"Yes he is, though he's still weak. He won't be able to work for a while yet." As soon as she said this, she heard an outraged "I am not weak!" from the bed behind her. She bit her lip to keep from laughing, and Starkey coughed for what Joannah guessed was the same reason. She thanked him and closed the door again. She turned back around to face the Captain, who was now under the covers, but still had an air of sulking about him. He really did look quite comical.

"Would you like me to do anything for you while you're waiting?" she asked, using a tone a mother would use to her sickly son.

"Don't patronize me, Miss Darling," he said. Joannah smirked. "Well, if you are just going to stand and stare at me until I say something, you might as well get me the bottle of rum on my bookcase. It's behind "A Tale of Two Cities"."

"No rum for you unless it's in medicinal intent."

"Who said it wasn't, my dear? Rum often makes me feel much better."

"I'm sure it does, but you are not getting it regardless."

Hook huffed, mumbling something about if she wasn't going to do what he wanted, she shouldn't have asked.

"Oh, stop sulking! You're supposed to be the fiercest pirate captain ever known! The only man Barbeque ever feared, remember?" she teased (Barbeque was a nickname for Long John Silver), once again going back to her mortar and pastel to further mix the new salve she was making.

"My dear, 'fear' is not a strong enough word for what Barbeque felt towards me," he replied, gloating.

"Call it what you like. But now, is there anything else you might like to amuse yourself while you're waiting?" She thought a moment. "I could tell you a story." She had meant it as a joke, so she was surprised when a thoughtful look took shape on his suave façade.

"Would you really?" he asked, sitting up halfway, leaning back on his elbows.

Joannah was slightly taken aback, but she would never pass up a chance to tell a story. Yet another similarity to Wendy Darling, it was one of her greatest passions. "Of course, if that's what you'd like. I daresay I owe you at least that much."

Ignoring this last sentence, he extended his good hand and patted the free half of the bed, urging her to sit down. Leaving her work on the table, she sat down at the foot of the bed, leaning back against a bedpost so that she faced him. It seemed almost surreal to her; sitting comfortably with the villain from all her beloved stories, about to tell _him _of all people, a story. She curled her legs beneath her, saying "What would you like to hear a story about, Captain?"

He thought for a moment. "You seem to know much about my goings-on around here. Do you know any stories where I actually win a fight against Pan?"

Joannah smiled sympathetically. "Unfortunately, I do not."

"It's alright. Neither do I."

Joannah snorted inwardly, then had an idea. "I could make one up for you, if you like."

He smirked. "That would be most enjoyable. Even more so if I get to kill him…" he baited.

Joannah smiled pleasantly. "No, not in this one, Captain. Peter will not perish in this story, but I will give you two options. Either one he flies off and you win the day." He huffed in mock annoyance, but nodded for her to continue. "He may both sustain an injury and fly away, or he can display poor form and fly away."

"The latter," he stated without hesitation, as she knew he would.

"Very well then, Captain. The latter it is. Are you ready for me to begin?" He nodded, pushing himself up to lean against the head board of the bed, sitting opposite her. Without another word, Joannah began her story.

"_Once upon a time, the island of Neverland was quivering in anticipation. There was something brewing in the air. Not a one could quite put their finger on it, but it was something, just the same. Would there be a battle between the redskins and the Lost Boys? No, that wasn't it. Would the mermaids sing their siren songs, attempting once more to snatch any unfortunate passer-by? No, that was too ordinary. There was something about today that just pulsed with memory. Something that had happened many times before, and would no doubt happen again. Something that had been occurring for so long, that many would not even give it a second thought upon realizing that it was occurring again. But it was something, that for those who were chiefly involved, bled feeling. The most opposite feelings all at once._

_Malice, joy; rage, cockiness; lethality, mischief. It was indeed something. Something that was now just on the edge of realization, just dancing on memory's razor edge… What is this? Now a colour comes to mind. The brightest, most entrancing blue. The same blue that has dyed the small, sweet smelling forget-me-nots since their creation. Wait…forget-me-nots. A phrase, a fraction of a tale told and heard many times before among dwellers of Neverland and of other worlds alike. 'With eyes, blue as forget-me-bots, save for when he claws your belly with the iron hook he has, instead of a right hand.' Recognition washes over the island like an ocean wave, and the something finally gains a name. Hook._

_Captain James Hook, to be precise. Yes, that was exactly what today was calling for. A battle of what some would call good versus evil, others sin versus innocence, others still would call it misfortune versus luck. Whatever the name, they all meant one thing. Today James Hook would once again fight Peter Pan, the boy eternal. But shall eternity end this day? We shall see in time…Let us now venture to the Jolly Roger, the very image of piracy, to await this battle. Look there at the helm, for there is our man-dubbed-villain, Captain Hook. Looking resplendent in crushed red velvet, he too seems to sense that something is astir on the island. Does he know that it is Pan? Note the way his hand lays gracefully atop the hilt of his sword, the way his eyes watch the sky with all the sharpness of a hawk. Yes, it seems he does. Even now, as we watch, we are able to see his lips form the fateful syllable, Pan, in silent yearning. He too, it seems, anticipates such an event._

_Hark ye, James Hook, for a crow, as sharp as your own hook, shatters the dawn. The boy has arrived. The boy eternal hovers above the starboard bow, grinning, surveying the chaos on deck that has ensued on deck upon his arrival. The crew rushes about, gathering swords, readying canons; but the din silences at once as a smooth as velvet, deadly as poison voice cuts through the air. "No man moves. He is mine." James Hook now stands at the foot of the stairs, on the main deck. His head tilts slightly to the side, his eyes filled with a nameless emotion; all at once curiosity, wonder, and a deadly, deadly malice.'_

A sudden knock at the door broke the spell of Joannah's story, and the pair snapped back into reality. Hook had been watching with unmoving eyes her eyes had grown animated and her voice swelled with feeling as she spun her tale. Her eloquent words could have bested his own, and she looked away from him and at the wall she faced, but her gaze did not rest there. He could tell she was envisioning what she was saying, and that she was no longer sitting on his bed with him, but standing on the deck outside, or perhaps in the sky, watching her scene unfold. He was also liking the story; it made him seem like somewhat of a hero for once, instead of the villain dreaded by all. It was amusing, if not a bit unsettling. He had been watching her, listening to her tale with a sort of wonder, and was more than a little annoyed when the knocking shattered the moment. "Damn," he breathed, inaudibly. "Come in," he called, keeping his voice neutral.

Smee entered with a tray of toast and fruit. There were two plates. "Thank you, Mister Smee," Joannah said kindly, leaving the bed to take the tray from him. Smee nodded, said "Glad your feeling better, James," and left.

"Well," the Captain said. "Go on!"

"No, you must eat something first."

"I'll eat after your finished, now please, go on!"

This was the first time the Captain had actually said please without it being sarcastic or in a tone of tolerance. He was starring at her in earnest and it shocked her. She really thought he should eat something right now, but if finishing her story would make him eat… "Alright, but only if you eat your breakfast right after."

The Captain nodded, and motioned for her to sit back down again. She took her old place on the bed, and began again.

"_His head tilts slightly to the side, his eyes filled with a nameless emotion; all at once curiosity, wonder, and a deadly, deadly malice."_


	8. Of stories and a stranger

"_His head tilts slightly to the side, his eyes filled with a nameless emotion; all at once curiosity, wonder, and a deadly, deadly malice. Unsheathing his sword, he takes a step closer. The boy is ready. He takes out his own short blade and flies down to the height of his adversary, and at once the deadly dance begins. The boy is fleet and fast, but the man is graceful and strong. It seems that they are equally matched, and impasse forming between the two fighters. Swords clash, steel ringing against steel. Suddenly, the pirate's steel hook comes down, cutting the boy on the arm. The boy looks up in shock, the captain responds with a sly smirk. With a grunt of rage, the boy starts the fight again, this time with a new intensity. The captain matches him step for step. _

_They range all over the ship, from the far mast to the bow. Suddenly, the boy flies upward into the rigging, disappearing amid the sails. Hook sheaths his sword and races for the rigging, climbing up after his opponent as fast as he can. He climbs higher and higher, his eyes searching about wildly for the boy, until he has reached the uppermost branches of the mast. Unsheathing his sword, he holds it out to the side slightly, for balance, as he edges his way along a branch of the mast. He reaches the middle and pauses, eyeing the air around him suspiciously. There is too much silence; the wind flapping the sails is the only sound. Then, he senses a stirring behind him. He turns like lightning, but he's too late. The mast seems to jerk out from under his feet as Pan dives with the speed of a hawk, right into Hook's legs. He falls from the mast._

_Striking out his hook, the captain reaches for the mast. His hook just catches the edge of the mast, scratching down the side and, inevitably, sliding off. Hook falls through the air, too far to the side to ever reach the deck. He's falling to the water, home of the mermaids, eager to snatch and drown any who enter their domain. Fear not, for that spark you see in his eye is not fear, but none other than raw will to live. Shall Captain Hook go willingly into the arms of death? I think not. Once again striking out with his hook, he digs it into the hull of the ship. He uses all of his strength to cling to the side of the ship, cursing the boy under his breath. Bad form! Finally he stops sliding, his hook stuck firmly into the side of the ship. His good hand grabs onto a carving on the ship's side, and wrenching his hook out of the wood, scales the side of the ship in this way, swinging himself over the railing and back onto the deck a few moments later. He's greeted by cheers from his crew. Fear him though they did, there never was a more loyal pack of sea dogs._

_Smee throws his Captain a sword, which he gratefully catches without a word, once again searching the sky for the wretched boy. "Pan!" he yells, his voice pleasant and oh, so baiting. "That was most certainly not good form, I must say. Will ye come down and finish what you have started?" He paused, then added, slightly louder, "Or will you just fly away like some cowardly sparrow?"_

"_Coward?" a voice growls from behind. The boy has once again landed on the deck, facing his opponent, looking livid. His attempt had almost worked, he had nearly won. _

"_Not this time," thought Hook, stepping closer. He then said aloud, "Have you really so much doubt in your own abilities, boy, that you would divert to _poor form _in order to stand a chance?" He said the words 'poor form' as if they were the most dreadful insult. Outraged, the boy flew at him, dagger in hand. His anger made him less aware of his actions, and Hook deflected the lunge easily._

"_Rule number one," he said, with the instructional tone of a teacher. "Never attack in anger." This only further heightened the boy's rage, and he lunged forward again, this time aiming for Hook's leg. Hook's sword caught the blade and shoved it back. "Rule number two," he continued, his tone the same. "Never aim for a leg. It wastes valuable time in which you could be hitting somewhere more inconvenient to your opponent, such as an arm or the heart." By this time the boy was absolutely seething. He threw his dagger savagely towards his adversary, giving it a deadly spin. Truthfully, it would have been a lethal move, but his own hurt pride blinded him, and the dagger flew off to the left, digging itself into the mizzen mast, far from its target."Rule number three; never let your weapon leave your hand." Hook used the moment in which Pan stood there, dumbfounded and tired, to grab him by the throat and slam him against the mast. _

"_Rule number four," he breathed, fairly hissing. "NEVER cross blades with Captain James Hook, for it may very well be the last move you ever make."_

_And with that, Hook dragged the boy over to the rail and threw him overboard, knowing that his body would never reach the water. As he had predicted, the boy shot up into the air, turning to glare at his enemy. Hook tossed the urchin his dagger, which the boy caught, and turning to glare one time, the boy flew off, having accepted defeat for the moment; leaving Captain James Hook, to win the day."_

She finished with a flourish, her gaze returning to him. "And that," she said, smiling, "Is the story of Captain Hook and Peter Pan's first official duel."

The Captain looked at her, a look of contemplation on his face. He then nodded and lay back down. "That was very good, Miss Darling. You truly have a talent."

Joannah smirked. "I thank you, good sir," she replied, standing and giving a theatrical bow. "It was satisfactory, I presume?"

"Oh yes," he replied. "Very. You made me sound rather heroic."

"That was the idea."

"Hmph." He smirked, putting his hands behind his head and gazing at the ceiling. He truly liked the story more than he let on, but he would not express it. "If only, eh?"

"Well, I don't know about that. The way you just took action during the fire was pretty heroic. You didn't stop to worry about yourself. You just acted to save your crew."

"How do you know I didn't just do it to save myself?"

"Did you?" she asked, her voice even and sure. He paused a moment, still studying the ceiling.

"No," he finally said, thoughtful.

"There you are, then." She got up from the bed then, taking a plate off of the breakfast tray. "Are you going to come to the table or would you rather eat in bed?"

"Mm?"

"You promised to eat after I finished your story."

"Ah yes. One moment, I'm coming." He got up labouredly from the bed, walking over with disguised discomfort. Joannah knew better than to ask him if he wanted help. Instead she just set a place for him, putting a plate of food in front of his chair. He sat down at his chair, and after a hard glance from Joannah, reluctantly began to eat.

"You have too much faith in me, Miss Darling," he said suddenly.

"Hm?"

"You have too much faith in me. You've only known me for mere days, yet you already assume the best." She didn't respond. "It might," he continued. "Not be a wise decision, considering my history, which for some reason you seem to know."

"What little I do know of your history, Captain, is confined to the barriers of Neverland. As a result of this, I am indeed aware of the actions on your part that you are implying at. But that in itself should tell you something," she replied smoothly. "The fact that I am aware of your past, yet I trust you. For the moment," she added, teasingly, but his eyes darkened slightly, not matching the small smile he wore.

"Miss Darling," he said. "I gather that you have heard of a Miss Wendy Darling, judging by one of our past conversations." Joannah nodded. "Then you'll remember that she also trusted me. As a result, she was nearly killed." Joannah was confused by the way he was speaking to her. The words he was saying could have very easily been threatening, but his tone was almost…cautionary.

"Are you implying that you are planning on making me walk the plank, Captain?"

Now he smiled. It was small, but it was genuine. "Who knows, Miss Darling. Who knows what I might do." He shook his head then. "But at the present time, no, I am not planning your demise. I am just merely stating that you have too much faith in me."

"I think the problem, Captain," she replied. "Is not that I have too much faith in you, but that you don't have enough faith in yourself."

"Hmph," was all he said. The two ate in silence for a few moments, until the Captain spoke up. "Miss Darling?"

"Yes?"

"Would you tell me another story?"

Joannah was getting used to the unexpected from him by now, so she was not very shocked. "Of course, if you'd like. What about?"

"Tell me a story," he answered, determinedly. "About a girl. A girl named Joannah."

Joannah smiled. "And what shall Joannah be doing?"

"Well, she will not be doing anything, per say. I would like for you to narrate about something that happened to her."

Her smile stilled a bit, her curiosity plain. "What shall that something be?"

"I would like to know how she acquired various marks on her person. Marks that look like suspiciously man-made."

She smile fell. "How do you…" she started, then stopped, changing her mind about what to say. "Surely you do not want to hear a story like that. I can tell you another about you and Peter. You can kill him, if you wish." She was baiting him.

"Tempting, but no. I want to hear the story I described." She hesitated, and he could tell she was on the verge of refusing. Deciding to strike a nerve, he continued, "Did you not point out on various occasions that you are somewhat indebted to me, Miss Darling?"

She flinched. "Bad form," she whispered.

"Nonsense. It was merely a very good point."

She sighed. "Alright, seeing as I do owe you my life." She paused. "Are you sure I have to?" He nodded. She sighed again. "Very well."

"_Once upon a time, there was a girl. A girl called Joannah. Joannah loved art, music, singing, writing; but most of all, she loved stories, both telling, reading and hearing them alike. She loved stories of adventure, magic, freedom. But most of all she loved stories about a boy who wouldn't grow up, and a magical place in which he lived called Neverland. Filled with faeries, mermaids, Indians, a ticking crocodile, and pirates, every aspect of it instilled such a sense of longing and wonder in her heart that she could barely stand it. Joannah was convinced that one day she would find her Neverland, and escape from her ordinary world, dark and dreary. She would fly to the island, stay a child, and never grow up. She was convinced that even if she could not find it, she could avoid growing up altogether right there on earth. But one day, she discovered that her fate was not to be hers to decide._

_We now come to the subject of Joannah's parents. Joannah loved her parents dearly growing up, and she was sure they loved her too, but as she grew older, things began to change. Her father no longer smiled at her when she came in the room; he did not even look at her on most occasions. Her mother no longer sang as she worked, but retreated into a stony silence that was never broken save for her to order Joannah about. Her mother only ever spoke to her father, and her father did the same. There were never stories anymore. Her parents got along well, but with each other exclusively. They treated Joannah as if she were not there. Joannah tried to talk with them, but after a while of receiving one-word answers, she simply stopped trying. Her only comfort was school, her friends and most of all, her stories._

_One day, around the time when Joannah was about sixteen and a half years of age, her father and mother called her into the parlour to have a talk. Joannah eagerly followed them into the parlour, happy to finally have some real contact with her parents for the first time in a long time. That is, she was happy until her parents started to speak. They were arranging her to be married. The man they had in mind was a man from her father's workplace, a very respectable gentleman. Her parents had arranged for her to go on an outing with him the following day, and to have many more of such outings to come, leading up to, eventually, after a short while, marriage. Joannah was frightened beyond words. She was not ready to be married. With marriage came being locked up in a house alone all day, and children followed swiftly after that. Joannah loved children, but she did not think she was ready to have her own when she was still a child herself! She was not ready to grow up yet! She was not ready to even leave her nursery! But alas, her parents turned a deaf ear to her pleas, and she was sent off to meet the man, a Mister Bertram Davis, the very next day, in her best dress._

_Her parents saw her and Mr. Davis off with a smile that Joannah did not return. Joannah had never before met Mr. Davis, and so far she did not like what she saw. He was indeed, by standards, handsome. Tall, clean and fair, like any 'perfect' match made by parents. But to Joannah, he looked like a snake. He was considerably older than her, perhaps by even more than ten years. His eyes were cold and held no kindness when he looked at her, and the smile he put on when in public looked plastered and fake. No one seemed to notice these traits but she. As they walked to the park and the streets grew more and more empty, these traits became more pronounced, and eventually his pleasant smile dropped altogether and was replaced by a scowl. He kept telling her to hurry up and pulled her along in a most impolite fashion. He talked to her as if she were a dog, and whenever Joannah tried to protest or pull away, he gave her such a look of cold fury that it was almost frightening. Joannah despised him._

_Days passed, and Joannah tried in vain to tell her parents about Mister Davis. They did not believe her. Even when she begged and pleaded with them to heed her words, they took it as a mere trick to call off the marriage. The man of course was the perfect gentleman in public. Witty, kind, and treated Joannah like a queen. It made her sick. Only when the two were alone did he show his true self. _

_One day, maybe their sixth or seventh outing, he dragged her to the market. As they drew nearer to the docks where fish were sold, the city around them grew progressively dirty and dank. They had come to the poor part of town. Homeless families gathered in alleyways, and children looking for work roamed the streets. Just as they had almost reached their destination, a little boy ran out from the street and tripped into their path, landing right in front of them so that Mr. Davis nearly tripped. Joannah immediately dropped down to help the poor little thing up, when Mr. Davis grabbed her by the collar of her dress and yanked her back up, hissing "Don't touch it!" Then, to her astonishment, he literally kicked the child out of the way and made to begin walking again. Joannah couldn't have been more appalled, or disgusted. She yanked her arm free of his and turned back around, kneeling and cradling the frightened child, checking to see if he had been injured. Satisfied that he was fine, she let him run off towards a woman who was calling him who Joannah took to be his mother. The little boy ran off just as Joannah felt a hand in her hair._

_The hand twisted in her hair, grabbing a handful and pulling her up by it. She gasped from the pain of it, and turned around. Mr. Davis was there, looking livid. "I told you not to touch it!"_

"_How could you do that to the poor thing!" she retorted, disgusted. _

"_That matters not. You are going to be my wife soon. The point is, you obey me now, no matter what I say."_

"_You are both delusional and a monster. I will never marry you!" she fairly said, her voice deadly calm._

"_Oh no? You don't have a choice, Miss Darling. You parents won't allow anything less than for you to marry me, and what will society think? Besides, you're a woman, and women are always second to men. The moment I put a ring on your finger, you belong to me."_

_Joannah glared in rage. She was not in any way second to this deplorable man. And she was in no way, his. She would rather die. Rather than express these thoughts aloud and waste oxygen, she smacked him hard across the face. His head turned to the side from the impact. Then, he turned his head back to face her, very slowly, a look of pure hatred on his face. She ran._

_Or at least, she tried to run. She hadn't even fully turned around before he seized her forearms, thrusting her into the deserted alley that they had been standing beside. He gripped her forearms much too tightly, and her bones felt as if they would break. He shoved her against the wall, her head banging against the brick wall, and she saw stars. "Don't you EVER, DARE strike me again, you miserable wretch!" Joannah glared at him with every bit of defiance she could muster, and spat in his face. He gave a cry of still dazed from the blow, he kicked her shin. She gasped in pain, loathing him, but unable to strike back, for he had again seized a hold on her arms._

"_Perhaps now you will know you place, you damnable wench," he hissed, stepping back. As she watched, he ruffled his hair and tore off his tie, leaving it in the dirt. He turned back to look at her. "A man attempted to take you while my back was turned. I fought him off, and we returned home before anything else could happen, understand?" Joannah was aghast. He was going to cover up whatever marks he had made with a lie to make him sound like a hero. His voice dropped considerably in volume. "Understand?"_

"_Monster," she hissed._

"_I'll take that as a yes. If you know what is good for you, you will just stay quiet and let me do the talking."_

"_I am not afraid of you, Bertram," she said defiantly, using his first name informally._

"_Not now you're not. But in a little while, it won't matter."_

_With that semi-threat hanging in the air, they walked in the direction of home. Sure enough, he told his story to Joannah's parents and his parents alike, who had been having tea together with Joannah's parents while they were out. Joannah stayed silent. This was not the time to tell her mother and father._

_Later in the evening after everyone had left, Joannah called her parents into the parlour. There she told them what really happened. As you can imagine, they didn't believe her, but Joannah wasn't fazed. She had proof didn't she? She showed them her marks, which indeed had already appeared, red and angry. Her parents looked at them, shocked, and Joannah was sure they would finally realize she had been telling the truth. Then suddenly, her mother embraced her, cursing the man down at the docks who had done this to her! _

"_No no no!" Joannah protested, pushing back. "It was no man! It was Bertram who did this to me!"_

"_Now now, Joannah," her mother scolded. "Don't blame Mister Davis. It was hardly his fault. He probably saved your life, the dear!"_

"_The DEAR?" Joannah shrieked. "He's a monster! There WAS no other man! It was Bertram who hit me! He's been lying to you about everything!"_

"_Joannah, that is quite enough." Her father stood now, looking angry. "You should not dare to say such lies about Mister Davis. He is a fine, respectable gentleman, a perfect match for you. You WILL marry him, and that is final."_

_Now, completely despairing, Joannah ran to her room. Ah, do not despair, Joannah, for your rescue is closer than you think. Just outside, waiting in the park. Go now, and find freedom and escape, even if it entails being kidnapped by pirates."_

She finished her story with a smile, repeating the phrase the Captain had said to her on the very night on which her story ended. "Satisfactory?"

The Captain scowled. "Not at all." Joannah's smile faltered, her hurt feelings clearly showing. Seeing this, the Captain quickly spoke again. "Meaning, that while it was told exceedingly well, the story itself is upsetting. I am not that fond of the end, either."

"But it is a happy ending! Joannah escapes!"

"Yes, but no one bothered to kill Mister Davis."

Joannah laughed. "Well, I don't think it would be right to _kill_ him…"

"Right or not, I think it needs to be done. How the wretch…"

She cut him off. "Now now, stop that. You're getting malicious, and I will not have it at the moment. You'll be well enough to quench some blood lust soon enough." She added the last part somewhat bitterly.

The Captain was slightly angered by this, but did not let it show. He merely 'hmphed'. "It is plain to see that you disapprove. I suggest you get used to it, Miss Darling. You know very well what I am."

"What do you mean 'what' you are?"

"To put it kindly, let us just say that I am someone of less than reputable character."

She sniffed and cleared away his empty plate which he had finished whilst she told him his second story. "But you must admit, it has been through your own actions that you've earned yourself such a reputation."

"Also the respect and fear of the whole of the sea-faring world, to be sure," he gloated, sitting back.

"Of course, having a lethal weapon as an appendage is merely an asset," she said sarcastically.

"Merely," he agreed, smirking.

Joannah was about to make a witty retort when there was another knock at the door.

"Yes?" the Captain called.

"Captain, sir?" a voice called. The voice had an outlandish foreign accent, the only way to describe it was that it sounded with all the force yet all the lightness of a laugh. The voice also sounded young.

"Ah, yes! Come in!" the Captain called, and just as the door began to swing open he turned to Joannah and said, "Miss Darling, there is someone I'd like you to meet."

…………

_My dear readers,_

_I hope you are enjoying our tale so far. I dare say my dear friend Joannah Darling here, the heroine of our story, who sits with me as I write, reading over my shoulder and telling me details I have missed or words I should add, is very impatient with me at the moment, seeing as I have left you all on a cliff hanger with this chapter. For her benefit, I shall now do an evil laugh…..There, I have done it, and I enjoyed it immensely, though she is now threatening me with one of my quills which she is brandishing as a sword. Calm down, Jo, you'll poke someone's eye out with that thing. What do you mean that's the general idea? No, I'm not saying I'm afraid, I'm saying it could be dangerous. I would take you on any day. Yes, that is a challenge! Take that! And that! Oh ho! I see someone has learned a thing or two about swordplay from her days among the pirates! Take that! Ow! Watch it, that was my ear! Alright, alright! Go bother someone else for a few minutes so I can finish this letter! Here, read Jane Eyre. There, that should keep her busy for a few moments. Now, where was I? Oh yes! Now, dear readers, I beg of you to please, PLEASE review! Review you little hearts out with any comments or questions! It makes my day to see reviews, and Joannah also is especially anxious to see what people think of her adventures. Review review!_

_Sincerely,_

_The Authoress *and Joannah*_


	9. A Meeting and a Lesson

The door opened, and through it stepped a man. _Well, _Joannah thought to herself. _He's really a boy. _He was older than Joannah, but not as old as the Captain. He looked to be about 21. So, barely a man then. Joannah inwardly scolded herself for thinking such thoughts about a stranger, but she could not help thinking that he was handsome. He had bronze skin and short, dark wavy hair that gathered in almost curls on his head. He had the rugged look of a sailor, but he was obviously strong for that same reason, and his eyes were like none Joannah had ever seen before. She made a mental note to use them in a story one day. They were bright blue, but surrounding the pupils, coming out in the shape of a jagged star, was a ring of gold. The man (boy?) smiled warmly at Joannah, who blushed, before turning to the Captain, who had stood and began walking over to him. "Captain," he said. "I'm glad to see you up and about. You gave us quite a scare."

To Joannah's surprise, the Captain actually embraced the man (boy?) for a quick moment before pulling away into a firm handshake. "Lleshi," he said, smiling. "It takes more than a burn or two to take me down. But our new nurse over there is set on my resting for another few days." I blushed harder as 'Lleshi' smiled and winked at me.

"Good luck with that, miss," he said. "It will take a lot to keep our Captain away from his work for long."

"Oh, forgive me, Miss Darling," said the Captain, pushing the man (boy?) in her direction. "Allow me to introduce one of the very few men on earth that have my trust; Mister Dakota Lleshi, my first mate. Dakota, Miss Joannah Darling."

Joannah greeted him and held out her hand for him to shake, which he did. "It is an honour to meet you, Miss Darling."

"Likewise, Mister Lleshi. But please, call me Joannah. The Captain is the only one who refuses to use my name." I smiled teasingly at the Captain, who glared good naturedly.

"Excuse me for trying to be a gentleman, _Miss Darling_," he said. Dakota laughed and continued,

"I would be happy to oblige, Joannah. But only if you would call me by my first name."

"Consider it done, Dakota."

He smiled in response. An exceedingly charming smile, she thought, mentally kicking herself shortly after. What would her mother think of her thinking these things about a man? Dear lord, thought Joannah defiantly, thinking of her parents. What do I care? Just to prove this to herself, Joannah made a point of smiling at him a second longer than would be deemed appropriate. The captain seemed to notice this, and cleared his throat theatrically. Dakota snapped back around to face his captain. "Sir?"

"You have been keeping everything in order in my absence, Dakota?"

"Ah, yes sir. Everything is…ship shape, sir." He smiled. Joannah hid a laugh behind her hand.

"Well then, I suggest you continue to do so. Miss Darling here has decided to play doctor and will not let me out of this room for a few days."

"What do you mean _play_ doctor?" Joannah retorted. "Who, pray tell, has been healing you for the past four days?"

"Fair enough," he quipped, scratching at his bandages. "I bid you good day, Mister Lleshi. I shall be getting back to bed now. The sooner the wench lets me out, the better."

She ignored his comment on her being a wench and instead purposefully smiled at Dakota. "It was nice to meet you, Mister Lle-…Dakota."

"As it was to meet you, Joannah. Good day," he replied, bowing theatrically. Joannah laughed and made a deep, sweeping curtsey in return. She ignored the Captain's disapproving sniff behind me. Dakota then took his leave, and Joannah turned to find the Captain looking through his bookcase.

"A couple of children, the pair of you," he called over his shoulder.

"Ah, but we _are _a couple of children," she replied.

"Yes, I shall have to fix that," he said, with not as much of a teasing tone as she would have liked. Pushing the thought away, Joannah continued, "I thought you said you were getting back to bed."

"I lied." He took out a book, flipped a few pages, and put it back before taking out another.

"May I ask why?"

"Mister Lleshi…is a dear friend of mine. I would trust him with my life. But he is still a boy in many ways, and at the moment I am too tired for it. Lord knows I normally have the patience of a saint."

Joannah scoffed, thinking of the way he could sometimes gut someone on a whim. "Oh yes, you're very patient. I'm surprised you haven't been martyred."

He glared at her over the top of a book. "Your sense of humour is going to get you killed."

"Your lack of one is going to kill us both."

"And how do you figure that? Who do you think would win if you and I were to duel, you or I?" he said smugly, sure of the answer.

Joannah crossed her arms, the picture of ease. "In your condition, I would say the odds are in my favour. Whether you like it or not, at the moment you are weak." This was, admittedly, the wrong thing to say.

Before she could blink, the book was out of his hands and falling to the floor, and suddenly she was on the ground. He had deliberately _tackled _her! Joannah was mildly horrified but at the same time, a bit amused. Like a child in a game that their parents wouldn't approve of. His right arm had gone around her back as they fell, so she was not hurt, but now, a split second within impact, his good hand was at her throat.

"Weak, am I?" he hissed, looming some inches over her. And suddenly, Joannah's amusement was mixed with the smallest twinge of fear.

"Apparently, not as weak as I had first deduced, but yes, _weak_," she said, hiding a smile. She was egging him on. How far would he go, she wondered. He did not have his hook on, but would he find some other way to try and kill her if she continued this way?

He glared, but the look of anger abruptly turned to a dark smile. "Do you know one of the easiest ways to kill a man, Miss Darling?"

Her smug smile faltered slightly. "I can only imagine. A weapon is involved, I take it?"

He shook his head. "Not a one. That is why this skill is particularly valuable to learn, should you ever find yourself in a perilous situation unarmed."

"Then why did you learn it? Your _right hand _is a weapon!" She paused. "Well, most of the time," she corrected, thinking of how even now he was not wearing his hook.

He smirked. "Indeed, Miss Darling, but I was not always this way." He twitched his stump arm under her back for emphasis. A spark of bitterness suddenly filled his eyes, but in as much time as it takes for lightning to strike, it was gone, in its place the dark smile returned. "But, would you like to learn? Even though, I daresay you might not live through the demonstration." He raised an eyebrow.

Joannah swallowed. She would not look afraid. "Do your worst."

He smiled, ever more darkly, trying to scare her. "Very well. You get your opponent on the ground, as I have, with one hand pressing up underneath their jaw and one hand on the back of their head." He shifted his right arm from under her back to under her head. "I of course will be using my arm, but the effect will be the same. You then put all your upper body weight on their jaw, like so, letting your hand push down." He shifted so that he was leaning over the hand on her jaw, clearly a compromising position for the person on the ground if this were a real situation (which Joannah dearly hoped it wasn't), but he applied no force. All the while Joannah looked him dead in the eye, challenging. Hook smile never faltered. "Sixty-six pounds of pressure, and SNAP!" The moment he said 'SNAP!', he twisted her head to the side, quick as lightning. Joannah gasped, expecting death, but her neck did not break, for he had not used any of the aforementioned "sixty-six pounds of pressure". Realizing she was still alive, Joannah exhaled in relief. He turned her head back to face him and grinned smugly as she glared. "Weak, am I?" he said.

Joannah, in spite of herself, smirked. "No, not as much as I expected." He leaned back over her jaw, applying pressure… "Alright, alright!" she exclaimed! "Not at all! You're not weak at all!"

Smiling smugly, he stood up and offered her a hand, which she accepted. "I am glad you see it my way, Miss Darling." He turned to go back to his bookcase.

"What would you do if I said I was lying?" she called after him.

He turned back around, hand outstretched, but Joannah only laughed and caught his arm, pushing it away. "Calm down, I was kidding!" she laughed. "You're a very scary pirate captain, alright?"

He nodded seriously, turning back to his books once more. "And don't you forget it, Miss Darling."


	10. Warning and Healing

He nodded seriously, turning back to his books once more. "And don't you forget it, Miss Darling."

Now that he was no longer looking at her, Joannah allowed worry to leak into her features. Was there any double meaning to what he had just said? A warning, almost? She swallowed. No, it was most likely just the rational part of her mind getting carried away with the imaginative, story-teller portion of herself (which, admittedly, was larger than the rational part). She sometimes read into things more than she should, as if the moment she was experiencing was part of a story, an exciting plot. It was probably just her imagination doing just this. Then again, was she not practically living a story, an exciting plot? Then again, she _did _have a very active imagination. Then again, it double meaning could take purpose in what he had said. Realistic purpose. Then again…Joannah mentally sighed. Then again, she was over using the phrase, "then again". She pushed her uneasy thoughts away, and went to pick the breakfast dishes up from the table. She balanced everything on the tray Smee had left, and went to the door.

"I am just going to bring these down to the galley," she said. "You should choose a book if you want to, and get back to bed."

She shut the door behind her, cutting off his retort. She walked out into the sun and breathed in the salt air. She loved the sea, so very much. Tearing her eyes away from the sparkling expanse of water, Joannah went down to the galley and gave the dishes to Smee, thanking him for the meal. She went back up the stairs and out the door to bump right into a large, burly pirate Joannah knew to be Cecco.

"Oh, excuse me!" she said moving out of his way.

"No harm done. Tiny little thing like you couldn't hurt me," he replied.

"Indeed," Joannah said, sidestepping out of his way. "Now, you must excuse me. I must really be on my way."

"Where you off to so fast?"

"I was heading back to the Captain's cabin…"

"Oh yeah, you're his new play thing, ain't ya," he said, smirking.

"Excuse me?" Joannah said, her eyes narrowing.

"You think I'm an idiot? Well sweet heart, if it's not happening now, it will be right quick."

"What will?"

"And if it's not what I think it is," he said, ignoring her question. "Then you best get off this ship while you've got a chance, lass."

"What are you talking about? Why should I leave?" Joannah exclaimed.

"You might not. As long as you're careful. Real careful."

"Why?"

"The Captain's a dangerous man. I wouldn't get too caught up in playing "House" if I were you. As I recall it, there was another Miss Darling some years ago that nearly died at the Captain's hand. She would have, if Pan hadn't come at the last moment. He made her walk the plank 'cause she got in his way, and she was scarce younger than you; a child. Hang it all, you're still a child yourself." He began to walk away, before turning around once more and looking her dead in the eye, with a chilling finality. "Her name was Wendy, Wendy Darling. You look like her, even. She must have been twelve at the most, barely more than a babe. The Cap'n didn't hesitate a bit to try and feed her to the Croc or drown her, whatever came first. Why should you be any different?" He turned away and walked down the steps to the galley, where Joannah had just come from. "Watch yourself, Darling," he called over his shoulder, before the darkness swallowed him from view.

Joannah stared at Cecco's now vacant spot and swallowed thickly. His words had hit her like a slap to the face, like a wave of ice water. They had placed fear where before there had only been caution. She knew what he said was true. She had heard the tale of the Darling children many times, and had retold it to herself countless more. The Captain's brutality with the children, however, was now confirmed when there had only been slight doubt before. Surely it was true if one of the very crew who was there that day recounted it. She swallowed again. _Well, what now? _she thought. She wasn't nearly as afraid as she knew she should be. At least not afraid enough to just up and leave the ship before he was completely healed. If she really wanted to run, she could always leave instructions for Smee…But no, Joannah knew she wouldn't do that. She owed him too much, it would be a pock-mark on her ridiculously immaculate honour.

Joannah thought some more. _Yes, that's all it is,_ she thought. _It wouldn't be right. It would be dishonourable. I owe him my life. That's all. _She shook her head as if trying to physically jerk off the fear that now had a death grip on her mind. She couldn't just go back in his cabin looking like a frightened rabbit. _Well, you're a story-teller, aren't you Jo? Use your acting! _she thought, going to his door. She took a deep breath, threw back her shoulders and strode in.

"There you are," purred a voice from behind her. Joannah whipped around. Hook was there, fiddling with something that had been placed near the wall. Looking at it, Joannah realized it was an old sextant. "I began to wonder if you had gotten lost," he continued, smirking. He put the sextant down on a shelf on the wall and took a step toward her. "What took you so long?"

"Nothing," Joannah quipped hurriedly, cursing herself mentally. _Oh yes, THAT sounded perfectly innocent._

He cocked an eyebrow accusingly, but let the matter drop. "Seeing as you've designated yourself as the ship's doctor, whose orders are to be obeyed" he said, "When are you planning on letting me go?"

"I was not aware that I had you prisoner, but if you insist…" _That's it, Jo. Keep up the banter._

"Letting me go back to my _duties_, Miss Darling; my duties as _Captain._"

"Ah yes, those." Joannah paused. "Well, I haven't had a chance to check your burn yet today, so I cannot really say. I could have a look at it now, if you like."

He nodded. "By all means." He walked past her and sat down on the edge of his bed. Joannah followed, stopping in front of him. She reached out to the top of the "neck" bandages on the edge of his throat, then stopped, her hand hovering an inch away from the cloth. This was going to be much more awkward now that he was actually awake.

"Nothing was ever accomplished with hesitation," he said smoothly, giving her a level stare. "But I can remove them, if you wish," he continued.

Joannah shook her head. "No, I'll do it Captain. Forgive me, my mind was elsewhere." And shirking off any shyness, she laid one hand on the back of his neck to steady it as she slowly pulled the strip of canvas that served as a small bandage with the other. She felt a tremor go down his neck where her hand was. "I'm sorry," she said. "My hands are always cold; I don't know what it is."

He shook his head. "Not to worry."

Joannah pulled back the last edge of cloth from the burn on his throat and took her hand away, laying her fingertips instead lightly on the burn. The skin was no longer wet, which was a good sign, but it was still a raw pink and warm. It still needed time to fully heal. When she touched it, she noticed that he flinched almost undetectably, though his face remained emotionless. "Does that hurt?" she asked. "Even if it hurts just a bit, be honest. I need to know these things if you want to be back to work as soon as possible."

He remained silent for a moment, then nodded. "Only a little," he said.

"A sharp, stabbing pain or a burning?"

"More of a burning."

"That's good. It means the wound hasn't gotten infected. You'll be all healed soon enough." Joannah left the bandage off so she could put on a new one. She took another look at the wound.

"How soon is soon enough?" he asked.

"We shall see," she said, smirking at his lack of patience. She went over to the table. "However," she continued, picking up the bowl full of burn salve that she had made and another small strip of canvas going back to the edge of the bed. "The healing process will quicken if we continue to put this salve on your burns."

Hook eyed the clear green, firm-looking salve. "Where did you get that?"

"I made it from plants I had Smee bring from the island. Now, no more questioning my healing!" she scolded.

"As you wish," he said, holding up his hands.

"Now let's see," Joannah murmured, putting the bowl down on the floor and kneeling before him. She swooped her right index and middle finger across the salve, slicking her fingertips with its healing properties. Her previous hesitation was nowhere in sight now that her instincts as a healer took over. She knew what she had to do, and she knew how to do it. In vital situations, hesitation could cost the person in need their life. Joannah (as well as any other healer) had this rule-to-live-by engraved into her mind, and by now it had taken over.

She reached up to the burn that stretched across his throat and gently swirled the cool salve across the burn. At first the Captain tensed at the contact, then slowly relaxed. When Joannah had worked one layer into his skin, she began to work another on. This one she would not work in as much, leaving a thin layer on top of the wound just to sit and let his body soak it in naturally. She had just begun to put the second layer on when he gave a soft sigh of relief. Joannah smiled without taking her eyes away from her work. "Feels good?" she asked.

"It feels wonderful," he said. His eyes closed. "It takes the pain completely away. What is in it?"

Joannah smirked. "Faith, trust and pixie dust."

Hook groaned. "Miss Darling, I am serious."

"So am I." Joannah finished with the second layer, leaving a thin coating as aforementioned. "There. We won't put the bandage on just yet. Let the wound get some air for a while." She stood up. "Now..." She reached out her hand and gently peeled the edge of the downward spiral of bandages around the burn along his chest. He reached to help her, but she stopped him. "It's alright, I've got it," she said, reaching her left hand around his left side to reach the end of the bandage. She continued unwinding them like this until they were completely off, lying in a small pile on the floor. She layed her hand on it. He gasped. "Stabbing or burning?"

"Very strong burning," he said.

Joannah nodded. She would need to pay more attention to the burn on his chest. She took a small handful of the salve this time, using her entire hand to rub it onto the larger burn on his chest. He hissed in pain as her palm first touched the burn, but again slowly relaxed. This time, his relief took voice in a quiet moan. Joannah smirked again. "Are we still questioning my healing abilities?"

"Not a bit," he breathed.

"Well, good," she said, working the salve into the burn. When that was done, she spread a second layer across and let it sit, letting his body soak it in naturally with time like she had with the burn on his throat. "There. All done. We'll wait to put a new bandage on that one as well. To just let it breathe for a while, would be best."

"You have my thanks, Miss Darling," he said, looking down at her.

"My pleasure," she said, nodding at him before gathering the bandages. He said something, but his voice was too low for Joannah to hear. "What was that?" she asked.

He looked up suddenly, as if being shaken out of a reverie. "Oh, nothing, Miss Darling. I thank you, again, for your work. The pain is gone entirely."

"I'm glad. But now you really should get some more rest. There's nothing I can do about your head, but with luck it's just a bump. The only thing that worries me is that there _is _no bump. No rising, no nothing. Surely something that rendered you unconscious for half a week would leave a mark…" Joannah stopped herself from rambling. She was worried that it could be something internal, beneath the flesh, but she did not want to voice it and have _him _worried. "Anyway, my point is that you really should get some rest. You don't want to lapse back into unconsciousness." He opened his mouth to protest, but Joannah cut him off. "Please?"

He sighed, but lay down on his bed, pulling the blankets up to just below his chest burn. "Thank you," she said. "Mind you don't rub off the salve." He closed his eyes and Joannah watched until his breathing became deep and even.

Satisfied that he was asleep, she went to put the old bandages in a hamper by the door, but as she turned to face the window, she nearly screamed.

_To My Dear Readers,_

_Oh-ho-ho! And the plot thickens! Hello, my dear readers! So good to see you again! However, it appears that Joannah has seen something rather frightening! Any predictions? And what of Cecco's words of warning? What do you, dear readers, think of our Captain? Would you be weary, were you in Joannah's place? I have received messages in which readers claim that simply ripping their clothes off would be their course of action, but that seems a bit forward without so much as an introduction, yes? What do you think?  
I hope those of you who enjoy suspense are taking amusement from this cliff hanger I have left you on. As for those of you who don't, I apologise, but not to worry. I am already receiving hell for it from Joannah. Oh, and I am sorry for the terrible wait, but my internet has not been working for so long! You avid FF readers/writers can imagine how annoyed I was at that! It's been practically a month! But alas, what is done is done. Oh, and before I forget, a special thanks to .Live for just being who she is! Dreamer, you're wonderful! _

_But alas, I must away for the night! As always, Joannah and I encourage you all to leave reviews! They make our days (or nights, whichever!)! Perhaps answer the questions aforementioned in the first paragraph of this letter? Perhaps your own thoughts? I wish you all faith, trust and pixie dust, and_

_May life always be an adventure,_

_The Authoress *and Joannah*_


	11. Just One Night

Satisfied that he was asleep, she went to put the old bandages in a hamper by the door, but as she turned to face the window, she nearly screamed…

Scratch that; she did scream. Joannah gave a short scream of fear and surprise before clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. The face of one of the pirates, one that Joannah did not know, was directly in front of the porthole. His eyes were open and bulging, his face a blotchy red, his mouth open in a silent scream, but his entire face was frozen in a grotesque mask of fear. He was dead. Joannah's eyes held the dead man's empty gaze in horror until she realized that he could not just be suspended in mid air. Her gaze flitted down to his throat, and sure enough there was a rope there. Not in a noose, it was in a sloppy slip-knot, a mere tangle of rope, but it was enough to squeeze the life and air from the man's body; he had been hung.

Joannah must have registered all this in a mere second, for the moment she screamed the Captain had snapped awake. He had shot out of bed and now had her hand grasped firmly in his as he followed her gaze to the wretch outside the porthole. The same shocked horror that filled Joannah's eyes flicked through his for a moment, but was soon replaced by a look of seriousness. He turned to Joannah. "What happened?" he demanded. Joannah, who now had (to her shame) tears streaming silently down her face, could only shake her head in answer. She could not tear her eyes away from the man.

Seeing this, Hook immediately pulled her into his arms in a tight embrace and turned her away from the window. "Hush," he whispered as she shuddered against his chest, fighting back tears. "It's alright, it's alright," he soothed, holding her steady with his right arm and smoothing her hair with his left hand. Suddenly there was a tearing sound, and the man fell from view. A splash quickly followed, Hook quickly pulled away, keeping an arm around her shoulders and keeping her face turned away from the window. "Come," he said, walking her hurriedly to the door. He had to get her away from here, and he himself had to see what had happened. _Damn it all, _he thought. _I fall asleep for less than a MINUTE… _

They walked out into the light and Hook squinted for a moment against the brightness. His eyes adjusted to the light and he turned to the portside; the side of the ship where the porthole in his cabin was, and where, down in the water, the body would be. The crew was gathered at the railing there, all looking down and pointing, talking to each other rapidly in a din that became one unintelligible murmur. Hook released his hold on Joannah at his cabin door. "Wait here," he said, abruptly turning and pushing his way through the men to lean over the railing and steal a glance down at the man. He was floating face down in the water, a length of rope stretching from his neck and undulating around him on the surface like the severed tendril of some aquatic beast. Hook look up; where the man (it turned out to be a man by the name of Johnson) had been hanging moments before, there was a smaller length of rope hanging from the end of a sail, the end broken.

Hook whipped around to face his crew. "What. Happened," he said. The men cringed as Hook began to feel the back of his eyes become hot, which they often did when they began to turn the fabled crimson that he was famous for. _No, _he thought to himself. _Be calm, James. Keep your head level. _He took a deep breath, before saying, a bit louder this time, "Did anyone see what happened?" No one stepped forward. "One of your shipmates was just hung like some convict before the king, and no one _saw _it?" he exclaimed. Suddenly a voice called out, "I did, sir."

The crew parted like the Red Sea and Cecco stepped forth, looking impassive and bizarrely free of grief considering the circumstances. Hook stepped close to him. "And what did you see, man?"

"Old John there was replacing a damaged rope up near the sales, sir," he said. "He had the end of the rope around his neck, see, so he could keep it out o' the way while he was untying it. But he slipped off the ratlines and," Cecco made a choking sound in the back of his throat and tugged the collar of his shirt up in a mock display of Mister Johnson's last moments.

Hook cocked an eyebrow dangerously. An alarm was going off in his mind, sharp and metallic as a ship's warning bell. He prided himself on his innate ability to sense when he was being lied to, and he was sensing just this from Cecco. "Are you sure that's all that happened?" he asked, his voice low and warning.

"Aye sir. Just an accident, nothing more. A tragic accident, but an accident nonetheless." Cecco replied easily. His tone said that he did not think it wasn't tragic at all, and his eyes said the same.

Hook's eyes narrowed. "Who cut him down?"

"I did, Cap'n."

"Why?"

"Bad luck to keep a dead man aboard."

"But you did not think," Hook said, "To give him a proper burial, is that right?"

Cecco held his Captain's gaze, shameless. "No."

"Why?"

"Didn't this it was necessary, sir. Just cast the dog off, I says to myself. He ain't worth nothing."

"Well, that's fine then, _Mister _Cecco. Rest assured that the crew will give you that same courtesy when your time comes," Hook said coldly. He then turned abruptly and yelled for them all to get back to work. The men scattered, Cecco going slightly slower than the rest. Hook pulled Smee off to the side before he could leave. "Go down in a row boat," he instructed in hushed tones, "And sew Mister Johnson into his hammock. Weight it down and say a bible passage or two, as tradition, then give him to the sea. That miserable cur," he hissed, glancing at Cecco retreating back, "May think differently, but Johnson was a good man, and I'll be damned if he doesn't get a proper burial."

Smee nodded, looking up at the Captain in earnest. "Aye, sir."

"Thank you," Hook replied, before turning back to find Joannah. She was where he had left her, but she was now staring fixedly at Cecco's slowly retreating back, with a look of pure disgust and even the smallest twinge of hate.

Hook laid a hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly, startled, then looked up to his face. "He'll get a proper burial, don't worry," he said. "I've sent Smee to do it now." Joannah nodded, mouthing a silent thank you. Hook nodded before taking her hand and gently pulling her back to his cabin. She followed, and Hook gratefully went back into the cabin's dim light. He hadn't been in the sun for days, and the bright light of day had begun to make his head pound. He sat Joannah down on the edge of the bed and sat beside her. He realized after a moment that he had forgotten to let go of her hand, but she did not pull away, so he didn't either. Her hand was very small in his, it disappeared almost completely within his, and he remembered her saying before that her hands were almost always cold. From what he could feel, she was right, but he didn't mind. It felt cool and comforting against his own feverish skin.

She lifted her head suddenly and turned to look at him. "You don't think it was an accident, do you?" she said. It wasn't a question.

Hook hesitated. "What makes you think that?" he asked.

"Your eyes."

Hook sighed. "No…No, I don't."

She looked away from him to the porthole where just before there had been the face of the dead Mister Johnson. From the look in her eyes, Hook could tell that she could still see it there. "I don't either." She was quiet then, and Hook left her to her thoughts. "Well," she said after a few minutes, suddenly standing and letting go of his hand. "Would you excuse me for a moment? I'm just going to…well, I'll be right back, I promise. You really should get some rest, anyway. If you don't want to sleep, you should at least lie down."

Hook scoffed half-heartedly. "I warned you that things would go to ruin if you didn't let me get back to work," he said, attempting to make her smile. She gave a small smile, but it was forced, and Hook could tell that it was given for his benefit only.

"Well, the more you rest, the faster you can go back to work. Now, lie down, I'll only be a moment," she pressed, standing still and watching him. It was clear that she would not move until he did as she asked, so Hook suppressed the urge to huff in annoyance and lay down. He looked about the room, waiting for her to go do whatever it was that she wanted to do. His eyes flicked to the table where she had been making her healing salves, where a small pile of leaves and medicinal flowers was sitting, still somehow unwilted and healthy looking. At the very top of the pile was a shockingly red flower. There were slash-mark-like designs on each of the petals, with streaks of darker red, like blood, coming up from the center of the flower and bleeding down the petals. His eyes flicked from the table to his bookshelf, amusing himself by counting all the books. When he looked up from this, the girl was gone.

Left alone now with only his thoughts for company, Hook mulled over the troubling notions in his mind. He did in fact not believe that the hanging of Mister Johnson, or Old John as he was called by the crew, had been an accident. If murder was the case, the obvious culprit would be, of course, Cecco. It was a high possibility. Hook had always had felt a sort of darker feeling whenever he has around Cecco, he didn't know why. He had never trusted him as much as the rest of his crew. And he certainly wasn't very sympathetic to Old John's death…

While Hook had been thinking these things over, he had been gazing fixedly out the porthole, trying desperately to see past the phantom image of Old John and out to the sea. He had been willing the image away when a flash of red fell languidly down past the porthole and then out of sight. Hook cocked his head, wondering idly if it could have been some Neverbird, when he looked back to the pile of healing plants on the table. The red flower was no longer there…

Later that night, Joannah nudged the cabin door open with her foot and walked in, carrying a tray of rice and some kind of meat that Smee had kindly made for the Captain and her. Earlier that day Joannah returned to the cabin a few minutes after leaving it, as promised, only to find that he had fallen asleep. Joannah had left the cabin again within a few moments and had gone searching about the ship for anyone who needed help with work. She had asked every member of the crew accept Cecco, who she pointedly ignored, and Dakota, who she could not find. All had refused her offer of assistance, and Joannah had gone back into the cabin rather dejectedly. She had tidied up the cabin a bit, but it did not keep her busy for long. The room was surprisingly immaculate for a pirate's dwelling.

Soon she found herself to be sitting down on a soft red armchair near a cluster of lit candles with one of the Captain's books in her hand. She read "Pictures From Italy" by Charles Dickens (which she rather enjoyed) until the sun went down, and someone knocked at the door. It was Smee, bringing up dinner for Joannah and Hook. Joannah had thanked him, took the tray and closed the door after Smee had left, and was now standing there holding, wondering whether or not she should wake him. Now t,hat he was sleeping peacefully instead of fitfully, he looked very calm and at rest. She did not want to wake him, but remembered that he hadn't eaten since this morning… She did not have time to even make a decision. As she watched, Hook wrenched his eyes open sleepily, blinked a few times and stretched. His hand reached up toward the ceiling, clenching and unclenching in the air. He sat up and ran his good hand through his hair tiredly, and did not appear to be fully awake, until he spotted her. He smiled a greeting and got out of bed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Smee brought dinner for us," Joannah said, setting the tray down on the table. "Would you like to eat now?"

"I'm not hungry just yet, Miss Darling, but thank you." He paused. "You don't happen to have my hook, do you? I'd like to put it back on…"

"Oh yes!" she said, opening one of the drawers in his dresser. She pulled out the straps carefully so as not to get them tangled, then took out his hook with her other hand. She gave them to him before asking if he needed help.

"Perhaps in a moment. There always seems to be a few straps at the back that I can never get," he said.

He locked the hook into place before sliding into its leather holder. Joannah watched as he did up the straps on the side and around his arm, then without waiting for his request she began to do up all the clasps at the back…

Hook inhaled slowly as she fastened all the clasps along his spine and at the back of his neck. Sensitive nerve endings gathered in these spots, and his skin tingled wherever she touched it. _Damn nerve endings_, he thought, exhaling just as slowly. She finished and he thanked her. They stood in silence for a few moments before she went to the porthole, looking out onto the water, now black and glistening under the moonlight. He followed and stood beside her in silence, watching the water as she did. She spoke up.

"Do you…do you think…" she said, haltingly. "Do you think Cecco…_killed_ him?"

Hook shook his head slightly. "I don't know, Miss Darling. But I do think that he knows something that he hasn't told us."

Joannah laughed a single, mirthless and bitter gasp. "Murder…I can say with certainty that I never expected this."

"Nor did I, Miss Darling. My crew aren't a violent lot. Within one another, I mean. Brutes they may be, but they're loyal to one another, and to me."

Joannah inhaled sharply. Looking to her eyes, which were still fixed on the porthole, he knew what she was thinking. "Miss Darling, no," he said, turning her to look at him. "You're in no danger here, I promise you. And if anyone tries to change that, they won't live very long."

"Oh no, don't do that," she said.

"What?"

"What you're thinking about doing."

"I was not aware that you could read my mind, Miss Darling," he said.

"Well, perhaps you don't know everything," she replied, offering a weak smile.

"Let's put it to the test, then," he said. He leaned toward her. "What am I thinking, right now?"

Joannah felt a nagging of shyness, a want to move back, but found that she couldn't. His eyes were looking intensely into hers, and she found her attentive, observant mind simply looking back; they were a forget-me-not kaleidoscope. "I…I lied, I don't read minds," she said tentatively.

"Try," he replied. Was Joannah seeing things, or did he just lean a bit closer. Joannah suddenly had a vision of her heart as a tiny sparrow, fluttering about and throwing itself against her chest in an excited fashion.

"Um…You're wondering what time it is? That's what I'm thinking," she tried.

"Is it really?" he said, though his tone said he doubted it.

Joannah sighed. "No," she admitted.

"Then what are you thinking?" he asked.

"Read my mind," she replied quietly. And suddenly, his hand was on the back of her neck. And even more suddenly, his mouth was on hers.

His kiss was gentle, and for this she was glad. Joannah was admittedly completely inexperienced (albeit clueless) when it came to matters of the…well, matters like this, and this was, in fact, her first kiss. Joannah mentally smirked. How many people could say that they shared their first kiss with a pirate Captain? No one she knew, at any rate.

He tasted like rum (this was surprisingly pleasant considering Joannah first try at rum had been considerably unpleasant. However, at this moment she had no complaints,) and the special, secret spice of the sea. His hand tangled itself in her hair at the back of her neck, tugging enough to not cause pain, but enough to cause the back of her neck to tingle all over. Before Joannah knew it, she was kissing him back. She found her hand, through no mental command of her own, reaching itself up to lightly touch the side of his face. _What are you doing? _her cautious side screamed. _I don't know! _Her in-the-moment side screamed back. _Just shut up for a moment and go with it! _

Joannah had never felt this way before. It was an uncertainty but a certainty, a shyness but a…oh how to explain it…a _want. _Yes, a want. A longing. She wanted…well, she didn't quite know what she wanted, but she wanted something, and it felt like only the Captain could give it to her. He pressed his hand against the back of her neck and pulled her closer to him. Joannah held back, afraid of hurting him from being against his burns, but he only pressed harder, so she stop resisting and allowed him to hold her against his warmth as the kiss became less gentle. Joannah felt so safe, so right at that moment that she felt that she could have let time merely slip by without her caring. It already felt like they had been there for an hour (while in reality it had only been scarcely a minute). Only the cold scrape of the Captain's hook against her hip startled her back into reality, into the realization of what she was doing and who she was with, and the tragedy that had happened mere hours before. The cold steel scraping against the curve between one's ribs and hip startled her in this way, and she pulled back so quickly that the tip of the hook caught in the fabric of her nightgown, leaving a jagged tear in the cloth and thin red scrape that curved across her stomach.

Joannah and Hook both looked down in shock at the cut, breathing hard. It was Hook who first composed himself.

"Are you hurt?" he asked hurriedly. He could see from where he was standing that it was a mere scrape, but he wanted to hear a confirmation from her.

"No no, don't worry, it's fine," she said, trying in vain to cover her exposed skin with her hand. She only succeeded in covering the scrape; there was still a thin outline of pale flesh around her hand.

"Forgive me, Miss Darling. I was too forward," he said, averting his eyes.

"No, Captain, it's alright. I mean, I am as much at fault as you are. That's not to say that there is any fault at all; there's not! I only mean that I was an equal participant in the…um…" she said, talking quickly and without stopping for breath. She cleared her throat, then, having no words left in which to say what she wanted to say, she gave an embarrassed smile.

Hook smiled and shook his head. "You are too kind, Miss Darling. But I do apologise."

"No need, no need," she assured, trying again (in a display of nonchalance) to find some way to cover her exposed side.

Hook quickly averted his eyes again and took one of his shirts from his dresser. He handed it to here, saying "Here, wear this. I'm sure will be able to find you something more suitable tomorrow, but will this suffice for the night?"Joannah's eyes flitted to the window. She could see the moon's position from here; it was much later than she had thought. She took the shirt and thanked him. He nodded in response before leaving the room so she could change.

Joannah slipped off her nightgown and into his shirt. It was silken and cool and felt like water against her skin. Joannah felt slightly embarrassed about her previous tongue-tied-ness, but not too much. Other than that, she was surprised to find herself content and at ease. Also she felt an absurd urge to giggle. Joannah never giggled, she made a point of only ever laughing. She thought that giggling was atrociously feminine and naïve-sounding. Fit for little girls, but not she. She repressed this urge. She thought vaguely of how she never felt an urge to giggle around Bertram. The only urge she ever felt around that foul man was a powerful urge to find the nearest blunt object (or sharp object) and repeatedly hit (or stab) him with it. Shaking her head, she went to knock on the door to let Hook know that it was safe to come back in.

He entered, smiling at how small she looked in his shirt (it was practically a perfect nightgown for her), but noted her hiding of a yawn. "Tired, Miss Darling?"

She shook her head, unable to speak from a valiant effort to stop another yawn.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Search me," she replied.

"Perhaps you'd better. You're always harping on _me _about getting rest, but Smee has told me of how your sleeping patterns have been erratic and unbeneficial," he chastised mockingly.

"Yes, well _I'm _not injured," she countered. "In your weakened state…"

"Do you remember what happened the last time you called me weak?" he said, cutting her off and cocking an eyebrow. She nodded. "Do you remember how I showed you the best way to kill a person when you are without a weapon?" She nodded again. "I have a weapon now," he said, raising his hook for emphasis. She gulped; his point was made.

"Perhaps I should to sleep for the moment. I mean, if I'm asleep on my feet tomorrow, who'll," she yawned. "Who will make sure you stay put?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, you're doing it for _my_ benefit. You're a martyr. Now, go to sleep," he said.

She started toward the couch. "No," he said, stopping her. "_I _am sleeping on the couch. You, Miss Darling, will take the bed. Captain's orders."

"_You _are taking the bed because you're ill. _Doctor's _orders," she countered. He raised his hook. "Must you always resort to violence?" she said.

"Get," he ordered.

"No." She stared at him defiantly.

Hook sighed. "Fine. Sleep on the couch for all I care. Just go to sleep."

Joannah smiled in a smug fashion and jumped onto the couch, sliding under the covers. Hook rolled his eyes before slipping out of his hook.

"Need help?" she called.

He thanked her, but refused. He could always get out of the damned contraption, it was just getting into it that was difficult. He then began to walk around the room, dousing all the candles.

Joannah felt her eyelids growing heavier as the candlelight faded and the room grew darker. She was lulled by the gentle rocking of the ship, and had a brief flash of déjà-vu from her first night aboard. "Goodnight, Captain," she said as her eyelids fell closed.

"Goodnight," he answered, dousing the last candle. Using the moonlight to guide him, he got into his own bed. There he waited for many, many moments. When he was certain that she was asleep, he got out of bed silently and gently picked her up, taking her over to his bed and tucking her beneath the covers before going to sleep himself on the couch, a smug smile on his face.

_My Dear Readers,_

_Ah, so Joannah and Hook have finally let down there inhibitions for a change, yes? I know for a fact that we're all happy about that, but I do know what you're thinking. WHAT ARE THEY DOING? THEY'RE ACTING LIKE A PAIR OF LOVE-STRUCK SCHOOL-CHILDREN AND SOMEONE ON THE CREW WAS JUST MURDERED!  
Well, dear readers, you will soon understand when I tell you now to let them have _just one night_ of oblivious contentment. We were all saddened to hear of the death of Old John, but nothing is ever as it seems. And sometimes, the dead have a way of coming back to us, if not always in the way that we expect…  
Even at this very moment, as the two sleep soundly in their beds, there is a game afoot. A game in which poor Mister Johnson was only a pawn. A game that has only just begun. _

_Farewell for now, dear readers,_

_The Authoress *and Joannah*_

***~*Meanwhile, somewhere in the bowels of the Jolly Roger*~***

"**Did you finish him?" the voice whispered in the dank, dark hold of the ship.**

"**Aye sir," the other replied. "The only person he's able to tell his tales to now is Davy Jones."**

"**I regret it," the first said, with a cold and remorseless voice. "But he knew too much. Curiosity killed the cat, as the saying goes." The voice paused, then continued, "What of the Captain? Does he suspect you?"**

"**He can suspect me all he wants; he ain't got no proof."**

"**Very well. Go now, you've done well," the first ordered. The other began to shuffle away, when the first called out one last order. "Oh, and Cecco?"**

**The footsteps stopped. "Aye sir?"**

"**You know what to do with the girl. Make sure it happens tomorrow."**


	12. A New Plan

The next morning Joannah awoke just as the horizon was set aflame with the fires of dawn. The blazing hues of orange, red and pink lit up her hand, and she reached it up idly to admire the colours dancing on it, still in the blissful passage between sleep and awake.

"Good morning," someone purred from beside her. Joannah, completely startled, kicked out in surprise, banging her head sharply against the head board of the bed. She sat up instantly, grasping the top of her head.

"Damn!" she hissed.

"Rude awakening, Miss Darling?" Hook purred. _Huh,_ Joannah thought to herself. _That's really the only way to describe his voice, isn't it? _

"Oh, not the worst one I've had. I recall a time where I woke up without a clue as to where I was or who on earth was the man stabbing me in the leg with a needle," she joked, rubbing her head. "Good morning, Hook," she said, looking over to her right to find him. He was lounging next to her, wearing black trousers and a light white work-shirt, a dark red book in hand.

"You realize the only people who say my name without its title of Captain preceding it usually say it with the utmost contempt," he commented, flipping a page with his hook. Joannah watched with curiosity. She secretly admired him for his hook (though she would never admit it). She did not admire the hook itself, really, although it did look marvelously dangerous at times, but of how he had adapted so well to the loss of such a vital appendage as one's hand.

"Well then, I should be a welcome change."

"That you are," he said, still reading.

Joannah hid her slight blush by looking around. She just realized that she had been in the bed. She could have sworn she had fallen asleep on the couch… She whirled to face him. "What did you do?" she exclaimed.

He did not lift his eyes from his book, but turned another page. "Miss Darling, calm yourself. Do you honestly think that you could have slept through anything I could have done that would be considered below gentlemanly conduct?"

Reddening, Joannah didn't answer. Fortunately he had not expected an answer.

"I merely moved you to a more comfortable place, a very gentlemanly move if you ask me." Seeing her raised eyebrows, he continued, "I remained on the couch for the night, you may be certain."

Joannah said nothing, merely nodding. It would be of no use to argue on how he should have stayed in bed himself and left her where she had been, so she did not. "How did you sleep?" she asked instead.

"I slept well, thank you. Yourself?"

"Oh, peachy." He smirked at her response. "Are your burns hurting again?" Joannah asked, rubbing her eyes. "I have to put more salve on them."

"Perhaps later. But I really have some work to do at the moment." Joannah eyed him warningly. "Calm yourself, Miss Darling. It will only take a bit, and I will be down in the hold, out of the sunlight. I doubt any harm will come from a half an hour of checking on supplies. Please, I am nearly out of my mind for restlessness." He gave her a piercing gaze. Was that on purpose? I believe it was.

"Well…alright, fine," Joannah consented. "But not for long."

"You have my word. I will return shortly," he said, standing. "You should have your breakfast while I'm gone, considering you missed your dinner last night," he said, raising his eyebrows in a mischievous manner as he went out the door.

Joannah blushed, cursing under her breath. But she got out of bed, brushed her hair and ate the toast and tea that had been left for her. Smee had seem to have caught on by now that Joannah was not able to eat even half of any of the large meals he usually prepared (Joannah's mother often chastised her for "eating like a bird"), and now prepared meals in smaller portions for her so she would not feel guilty about sending back food. Joannah brushed out her hair and braided it down her back, then went to change, but realised that she had nothing to change in _to_. All she had was the Captain's shirt on her back, and she did not feel entirely comfortable walking around all day in _that. _She would simply have to find something to wear, but she found herself thinking that she did not want to wear a dress. _Well, _she thought. _I'm practically part of the crew now, so I should be dressed properly. Breeches are what I chiefly need. And a work shirt. _She would have to ask the Captain if there were any extra aboard.

Joannah slipped out the cabin door and ran as fast as she could through the door that led down into the hold, not wanting to be seen in nothing but a shirt that went to her knees. She flew down the stairs and stopped as she reached the first level of the belly of the ship. "Captain?" she called in a whisper. "Captain Hook?" She walked a few yards forward, calling him, but was forced to stop, the darkness having become so thick that she could not see her hand before her face. She stepped back into the dim light near the stairs. "Blast it all," she said aloud.

"Now why would you be wanting to do that?" said a gruff voice behind her. Joannah whirled around to look up into the face of Cecco, a lit lantern in his outstretched hand. "Blasting it all would be quite the mess."

"I couldn't find the Captain," she said coldly. She hadn't liked Cecco when they first met, and now since what had happened yesterday…Let us say, to put it kindly, that she was not in the least bit fond of him.

"The Cap'n?" he repeated, scratching his head. "Well, that's easy enough to fix. Follow me, lass, he went this way not moments ago." He began to walk in the direction Joannah had first headed. Joannah hesitated for a moment, but he kept walking, and her source of light was fading with him, so she rushed up to follow at his heels. The dark bowels of the ship creaked and rolled with the sea, but Joannah walked comfortably and balanced, having gotten her sea legs not long after her first night aboard. "That the Captain's shirt you be wearing, lass?" he asked as he knocked a swinging rope out of the way.

"Yes."

He chuckled. "So, my first guess was right. Didn't take him near as long as I thought it would to get ye, though. Then again, yer young; naïve. What are you, sixteen?"

Joannah's spine prickled in anger and discomfort. He disgusted her beyond words, especially as he merely took something he had conjured from his sick mind and stated it as a fact, without even the slightest idea as to what he was talking about. "Seventeen now, actually. My birthday would have been a few days ago, if time mattered here. Not that it's any business of yours," she added. "And you are mistaken," she continued, following him down a ladder two the next level down. "I'm not as naïve as one would think. Someone who is naïve would not be almost certain that Mister Johnson died at your hand," she spat.

He paused, and turned around slowly, putting the lantern down on a trunk. It lit their entire corner of the ship; their entire, isolated corner. Joannah had been so angry with him before, that she had not heard her internal alarm going off inside her head until just now. She had to get back on deck, away from Cecco. "You're naïve enough to follow an almost complete stranger down into the belly of a pirate ship, with no one around to here you scream," he said.

Joannah blanched and whipped around to run back up the ladder, but a moment too late. Joannah felt herself being tugged back roughly by her braid. She gasped in pain and reached her hand back to yank her hair free, but Cecco only took the opportunity to seize her wrist and tug her arm sharply down behind her back. Joannah screamed in agony and he let go, only to slam her against the wall of the ship. Joannah shot her knee upwards between his legs hard, and he let go of her again, falling to the ground. Joannah ran a few steps before Cecco caught her ankle and tripped her, her head falling against the wood with a thud. She saw stars as he yanked her back up again, pinning her to the wall. He was breathing hard. "Now…I was told…" he said, "To…kill you quickly…But you're just too much of a pretty young thing to pass up…Besides….might as well…have one last…bit of fun…before you die, eh?"

He restrained her arms (so hard that Joannah could already feel bruises forming) and kissed her roughly on the mouth. Joannah tasted blood as she felt his teeth cut into her lower lip. When he pulled away, she shouted in anger and pain and dug her heel into the arch of his bare foot. She did not hear the splintering of fragile bones so much as she felt it. He reared back, cursing, before smacking Joannah hard across the face, twice. Joannah saw stars again as she screamed for help. His hand closed tightly around her throat, cutting off her air. Joannah gagged, gasping for breath, but could gain none. Her lungs burned for air within seconds, and within more seconds black spots were beginning to dance around her eyes, impairing her vision. She would soon fall unconscious.

And suddenly, Joannah heard a roar of anger, and Cecco hand was no longer on her. None of him was on her, anymore. Joannah leaned heavily against the wall, regaining her breath, and looked about wildly in confusion. And then she saw him. Dakota was atop Cecco on the ground, pummelling him viciously with his fists. Cecco groaned and shouted, trying to throw Dakota off, but although Dakota was smaller than Cecco, he was by far stronger, and would not be moved. He hit him again and again, until abruptly standing turning to Joannah. Cecco remained on the floor, by now only semi-conscious. Dakota grabbed Joannah's hand and the lantern and began to run back toward the ladder, Joannah running behind him, holding on to the hand of her saviour for dear life. He let her go first up the ladder, checking to make sure Cecco was not behind them and following quickly. Joannah stepped back as Dakota took the ladder up from the hole in the floor and threw it off to the side, trapping Cecco down below. They were both breathing hard, but after a moment Dakota turned to her, a serious look on his face.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, no I'm fine. Just bruised a bit."

"That's not what I meant," he said.

"Oh…Well no, he tried to, but he didn't get a chance…" Joannah voice broke for a moment as she shuddered from the memory, only a few minutes old. "But, thank you. You saved me."

"I only wish I could've come sooner," he said, reaching out and wiping blood from her lip with his thumb sadly. He threw a disgusted look down through the hole. "I was coming down into the hold to get some spare sailcloth, and I heard screaming. I ran down to find…" he shook his head. "The mangy cur deserves to rot down in that hold," he finished, glaring into the black. "But really, are you hurt badly?" he moved closer to her. Suddenly the door leading up to deck swung open, and bright light flooded the room. A worried looking Smee burst into the room from the shadows.

"Miss Darling!" he exclaimed, seeing her injuries. "What happened? Lleshi fairly flew down the stairs, and I came after him to see what was the matter! Who did this to you?"

"Cecco," Dakota hissed, answering for her. "He tried to…"

"No no, I understand. Miss Darling must not wish to think about it anymore," Smee cut him off. Joannah threw him a grateful look. "Where is he now?" Smee asked, turning back to Dakota.

"Down in below, barely awake. I took the ladder out. He'll have to stay there until the Captain says otherwise." Joannah blanched, thinking of how the Captain would react when he found out. The thought had not even crossed her mind until now.

Smee nodded gravely. "Then he'd better enjoy his last moments down there. If I know the Cap'n, his death won't be made pleasant."

**~*Later: A short while after Cecco's death*~**

**Damn it all! Couldn't that bloody fool understand one simple order? Kill her quickly, I said! Slit her throat and get out, I said! But **_**no! **_**The idiot couldn't even control his own physical wants! I would have rung his neck myself if the "good ole captain" hadn't beat me to it! I was so close, too! I was right there, in the shadows the whole time! **_**I **_**could have killed her! I was going to, until that little pipsqueak decided to barge in and play the hero! I could just…sigh…Never mind, it's no matter. Cecco was an animal, I never should have asked for his help. But now, the girl's still alive. Wait…The girl's still alive…That's it! Oh yes, the dear old captain would have been bothered if the little wench had died, devastated even. But if she lives…If she lived in the arms of **_**another…**_**Yes, that would be even more painful, wouldn't it James? Simply agonizing! Oh yes, this will be perfect! To watch his lover fall for the hero after all, while he, the villain, the terror of the seas, lives on alone and unloved? Wouldn't that simply be a bullet to the head! Yes, this is good. This is very good…**

**But wait, for this new stroke of brilliance to work, the girl needs a hero to sweep her off her dainty feet. Blast, that's the flaw. Where to find a hero on a ship of cutthroats and buccaneers…But I am a fool! Who was the very man who saved her this morning? Yes, I know just who Cupid's arrow points to, and it is set to aim and fire. Huh, imagine me, first planning a murder, now match making. What a turn of events. Oh captain, my captain, you are certainly receiving the…dramatic, demise that you deserve. **

_To my dear readers,_

_A thousand apologies for disappearing for so long! I have a slew of reasons for not updating for such an eternity; I went on a trip to New Brunswick, I got a job working with immigrants at my grandmother's workplace, my little brothers are bonkers, my mother has been restricting my time from my writing because she thinks it's impractical and silly even though she hasn't even bothered to read anything I've written if it's not for school (and school is the BORING writing!No pirates or flying or adventure or anything! Just "please write down how you feel about school uniforms". I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT UNIFORMS! Ok, well I do have an opinion, but that's not important! I don't want to write it down every other week!)… But I won't bore you with that. The point is that I am exceedingly sorry, and I PROMISE not to not-update for so long again! Unless of course, I am hospitalized or stranded on a desert island or something, and updating would be out of my grasp, but what are the chances of those things happening? *pleads with Fates not to let those things happen* But now, onto reviewers! Thank you all so much for your continuous support and kind words. They make my day and spur me on to keep writing! I really appreciate them, truly I do, (and so does Joannah). I hope I remain up to scratch!_

_Now, to answer some questions that I have received through personal messages…_

"_**Is Captain Hook going to bang Joannah?" **__ I can't say, for I have no idea what you're talking about. What on earth would he "bang" her with? A mallet? A table? A chair? A large leather-bound volume of Shakespeare? I'm certain that he has no intention of hitting her with any sort of object._

"_**Where is Dakota from?" **__Well, I was going to give his back story in a following chapter, but I suppose telling you his home-country won't do any harm. He was always a sailor, but returned from every voyage to his home in Albania._

"_**How sharp are mermaids' teeth?" **__Well this one was certainly unexpected, but that doesn't mean I won't give the best answer I can! I cannot give an exact estimate as to how sharp they really are, but from personal experiences, I can tell you that a mermaid bite is not a pleasant thing. The result requires many stitches. Many, many stitches._

…_MANY stitches._

_And band-aids._

_Sincerely, _

_The Authoress *and Joannah*_


End file.
